


Bargaining

by deliriumbubbles



Series: Runaways [3]
Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Minor Character Death, New York AU, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: After The Monarch’s, er, masterful arching of Dr. Victor Von Helping, Dean tries to come up with a more productive response to the changes in his life than ignoring them.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean forced one foot in front of the other as he tried to shake the events of the day. It figured that the moment he wriggled away from the Venture homestead, the Monarch would show up for the first time in ages to arch Dean’s professor.

 

The campus was nearly deserted at this time of night. A few of his fellow dorm people lingered in clusters near the doorways of buildings, and some girls walked together in packs. It _was_ a campus after all. In a metropolitan area famous for its crime rate. Dean kept to himself, but glanced their way a few times, walking slowly and watching until they’d safely entered a building. Luckily, his build was slight enough that few people saw him as a threat.

 

His dad was going to be _furious_ with him. There was no getting around it. They had fought over Dean’s course selections. They’d fought over his moving out at all. Now they were going to fight over how Dean had just written a check that he had no authority to write, for a _huge_ sum of money, mostly to keep The Monarch from turning Dean’s teacher into a monster.

 

Dean half-hoped the bank itself would get him out of this; it seemed unreal that any bank would cash a regular check for a million dollars, signed by the _child_ of the CEO. His life was unreal, though. They’d probably accept the check thanks to some never before mentioned Guild connections in the banking system, the way the Guild had most police forces under their collective, shady thumb.

 

Dean felt a bit conflicted. And guilty. He could’ve probably walked up to The Monarch and shattered his stupid, pointy face. Dean’s fingers would heal, even if it hurt. But aside from the fact that escalating matters with these people was always a mistake, Dean had hardly any experience actually _using_ his new body. He’d continued running laps over the summer, making small gains here and there, but it wasn’t until school started, and whoever had added some additional lung capacity, balance, and self-defense skills to the list of alterations, that he’d seen results. He was untested. Unreliable. The only thing he really knew was that he was different.

 

Well, Dean knew who—if the list came from his father, Pete, Dr. Whalen, and Brock—was most likely to deem a set of self-defense downloads necessary. Dean even knew that by that person’s standards, this wasn’t even questionable behavior. OSI tinkered with their operatives all the time. Uncle Hatred’s memory was like Swiss cheese and their experiments had made him grow breasts. Dr. Whalen had only recently remembered what happened to his hand and eye. They’d used Helper’s head for Brock’s heart.

 

Dean was trying not to think about it too much. It was easier to think about how frustrated he was with his father for changing his schedule behind his back. And for not coming to see him off, and making Brock do both that _and_ be the one to tell him about the classes. Dean wasn’t sure if he could be on unsteady terms with them both. Not and keep breathing.

 

And he hadn’t heard from Hank, either. He was probably out with Sirena by now.

 

 _That_ was another thing Dean didn’t want to think about. Saving the day, sort of. Getting a kiss for it. Thinking about how Jared would react to Dean’s methods. Thinking about Jared _naked_ this morning.

 

Had he been reacting to Sirena’s kiss, or the excitement of the moment, or the thought of Jared? It had all happened so fast. It had been different last time, with the falling Christmas tree. He hadn’t had time to reflect about what he was doing, and he’d fallen asleep right after.

 

Dean shook his head and put everything out of his mind as he entered his building and headed for his room.

 

“Everyone naked in here?” Dean called, rapping loudly on the door.

 

“Ha ha. Come on in!” Jared replied.

 

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question!” Dean entered anyway to find Jared quite clothed. His cheeks burned.

 

“Disappointed?” Jared chuckled as he pulled on the front of his plain navy blue t-shirt.

 

“Deeply.” Dean set his bag down and sunk into the bed. “What’s going on with you today?”

 

“The naked thing?”

 

“You don’t have to impress me, but putting on pants for my arrival would’ve been appreciated.”

 

Jared covered his face and laughed.

 

Dean shrugged. “It’s fine. I grew up in an isolated compound populated almost solely by adult men. I’ve seen so many naked guys, honestly.”

Now Jared was starting to blush at Dean’s deadpan. “Oh, I don’t measure up?”

 

“What? Stop it. No, I mean.” Dean looked up to the ceiling. “Okay, so, it’s my first date, and it’s… just awful. My brother wanted to come in his Batman outfit—Don’t ask me why we had to go on a date as a _team_ —and his date is this white girl with dreadlocks and goggles, and mine is the girl next door who is basically just doing my dad a favor. Like babysitting us. Nothing that comes out of Hank’s mouth sounds like it’s from someone above the age of twelve, and I’ve turned into a 19th century British lady, somehow—“

 

Jared laughed and shook his head.

 

“Not _literally_ , but my default for surviving social situations has always been to be aggressively polite. My date, Triana, seemed amused, but she was never very into me, so I’m sure she was just being kind. Anyway, I drag Hank off to the bathroom, in a pair. Like _we’re_ the girls. Let me wrap this up. Hank sets his crotch on fire with the hand dryer—‘

 

“Oh my God!”

 

“And then Brock busts in, _drenched_ in blood, and completely. Stark. **_Nekkid_**.”

 

Jared opened his mouth, then tilted his head to the side.

 

Dean spread his hands in front of him haplessly. “Apparently some guy from the Guild put a hit out on us and Dad. Brock told us to go back to our table. Like, oh, just another day. Just Brock. Naked and bloody. But not his blood, of course.”

 

“Well, of _course_.”

 

“So, this morning, _comparatively_ , wasn’t so bad. For _me_ , anyway. Thanks for not being soaking with blood. I was just wondering if you were okay.”

 

“Fine. Embarrassed, but fine. I didn’t mean to forget.” Jared raked a hand through his hair.  “I’m about to molt, and it’s kind of uncomfortable.”

 

Dean bit his lip and frowned. “Molt?”

 

“As spiders… sometimes… do…” Jared drew the words out, waving a hand in the air for explanation. “I thought it wouldn’t happen for another week or so, but it isn’t a regular cycle or anything. So obviously, today is the day it starts. And sometimes my spinner gets clogged up— Ahem. It’s gross. I promise, as your roommate—and the RA!—to make sure that there’s no stray, um, sheddings anywhere.”

 

Dean could only imagine the look on his face at this news. He was trying to keep it neutral, but failing miserably.

 

“Oh, I know. That reaction you’re trying not to have? I’ve seen it before. Hell, _I’ve_ had it.” Jared crossed his ankle over his knee. “The first time it happened, I thought I was dying.”

 

“That must’ve been terrifying.”

 

“It was. But I got through it, and now I’m used to it. I can sort of sense when it’s coming, too.” Jared poked his cheekbone. “You can tell. I start looking like an old handbag.”

 

“You don’t look that bad.”

 

“Not that bad. Such a ringing endorsement.”

 

Dean kicked off his shoes and folded his legs underneath himself. “How do you get used to it? All of it, I mean. Is it just time passing? Do you start thinking of yourself differently?”

 

“I think you have to, eventually. I’d been out there on the streets doing the vigilante thing for enough time…” Jared learned forward and furrowed his brow. “I suppose I had to accept it. Or just give up. And that’s not really me. I need to be doing something. I’m not good at being still, you know?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“My boyfriend at the time tried to accept it, but… He just couldn’t. And I couldn’t ask Wes to do that. It’s too much. That’s why I think it’s so important that when you get in a situation like this, you meet others like you.”

 

Dean focused on pushing back his cuticles. He’d known that Jared was bisexual. He was pretty casual about it, and of course, he couldn’t resist making “swings both ways” jokes, or a “swings every which way” jokes. He’d not heard about Wes before, specifically, but it made perfect sense that Jared had a boyfriend when the accident had happened. Jared was so friendly. He probably dated all the time.

 

“Most of the people I know who meet like that end up in the Guild,” Dean said.

 

“Well…” Jared said. “It makes a little sense. OSI doesn’t take us freaks. They feel comfortable telling us what to do, and they’re fine with altering their soldiers as they see fit, but you won’t find spider mutants or aquatic mammal mutants, or witches, or lab accident or burn victims in their barracks. Surely, you’ve noticed that.”

 

Dean sighed. “I saw a couple of psychics in their headquarters once, when Uncle Hatred went up for a physical. But the psychics were captive.“

 

“There you go.” Jared held up a hand. “Now, I’m not saying it’s right, but masks stay separate from OSI agents for a reason. What the Guild has going for them is the fact that their leadership comes from _within_ their own ranks. I’m sure that sense of community is tempting for some. I think it would be tempting for me, too, if my mutation had progressed much further.”

 

“You said you stopped it, right? Before it was completed?”

 

“Mostly. I’m not continuing to mutate.” Jared put his hand on his sides. “I could’ve ended up with another set of arms. Or with my luck, another set of arms and some legs coming out of my hips.”

 

“And you can’t reverse it any other way?”

 

“Not safely. I’m guessing it would be difficult to do, given the fact that most people stick with their mutations once they have them.”

 

Dean thought for a moment. Dr. Von Helping had mentioned that he used science for the good of mankind. It wasn’t far from what his dad had said he wanted from super-science… but he never came up with anything that actually helped people’s lives. Walking eyeballs, ray guns that could shrink people or destroy cities, mind control gas…

 

“I think there has to be a way, but it must be complicated. My dad reversed some mutations once, but we were desperate at the time and I can’t figure out how his cocktail did the trick. The safest way would be if we had enough genetic material from before the accident. To create a clone of you, and then transfer your brain, like a hard drive, or—“ Dean stopped when he caught the curious expression on Jared’s face. “I don’t mean we _should_. I was just thinking out loud.”

 

“I was just listening. Could you do that? I’m not saying I’d _want_ to try it, but could you?”

 

“Hm. There might be a better way, actually.” Dean screwed his lips to the side. “Do you have your old lab notes from your thesis? I, uh, may have gotten a copy of my dad’s and hidden it in a metal lockbox in my room before the fire. If I could figure out how he screens particular genetic flaws out, we could maybe create a gene therapy to reduce the impact of animal-based mutations…This would all be if someone would donate a lab and a bunch of materials to test with for free.”

 

“Clearly.” Jared smiled.

 

“You’re humoring me.”

 

“Noooo, oh well, maybe.” Jared grinned. “You’re fun to watch when you’re coming up with abstract scientific solutions to my problems. Maybe you and I could get together on a De-Mutate Jared Janson project. I do have that nearly finished graduate degree.”

 

Dean wished he hadn’t brought it up. “I don’t mean to act like you should change yourself. You’re doing good things out there. It’s not like anyone else is hanging around the slums, making sure people are safe.”

 

“I’m not the only one, but it’s true that the big leagues aren’t as interested in patrolling neighborhoods that can’t pay.” Jared got up and went to his dresser to pull out his suit. “Though, to be fair, Warriana never cared whether people paid or not. She worked with the CAL, but if she saw something bad going down, she’d jump into action no matter what.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean thought about that for a moment. “Brock really misses her.”

 

“It can be tough to lose a partner when you work really well together.”

 

Dean raised a brow. Jared just smiled.

 

* * *

 

When Dean arrived at Dr. Von Helping’s office the next day, he was uncertain of how to ask for what he wanted, or how his professor would respond. Dr. Von Helping in the office had seemed a very good man. Dr. Von Helping in class had seemed a very frightening man. Dean knew, from experience, that a man could be both good and frightening at once, but navigating that lack of stability could be difficult.

 

“Oh, Dean. Good. I was hoping to talk to you, but I hadn’t gotten around to sending emails for the day.” Dr. Von Helping rose from his desk, smiling warmly. His face was back in place. He looked perfectly normal.

 

“Hi, Doctor. I-um…” Dean faltered. What could he say? Where should he start?

 

“Look, I know that yesterday got a bit out of control,” Von Helping said. He gestured for Dean to sit, and he did, in spite of himself. “But I saw that you hadn’t dropped my class yet, and I appreciate your sticking with it.”

 

“I’m not really sure if botany is for me,” Dean said.

 

“You haven’t really had the change to try it, though.”

 

“That’s… true.”

 

Von Helping handed a small packet of papers across the desk. Dean scanned over them. Botany syllabus. Bio-engineering syllabus. Robotics syllabus. And a letter?

 

“I added a few from other classes that might pique your interest, but no pressure of course. That isn’t why I wanted to talk to you, however.” Von Helping clasped his hands in front of them. “As impressed as I was by how you handled The Monarch’s intrusion last night, I wanted to say that it is simply not your responsibility. I’d like the opportunity to reimburse your father’s company, although I can’t really do it all at once.”

 

“That’s very nice of you, but—“

 

“But nothing. Monarch was arching _me_ , and I lost my cool, so you had to take care of matters. I included a check there, which isn’t nearly the full amount owed, with a note to your father explaining the situation. I hope he understands that I don’t intend to take advantage.”

 

Dean shuffled the letter to the top of the pile and opened it. His eyes widened. “Dr. Von Helping, you _really_ don’t have to do this. I can deal with my dad being mad at me.”

 

“My point is that you shouldn’t have to.”

 

“Can you afford to lose ten thousand dollars?” Dean asked uncertainly.

 

“I do make some money from textbook sales and as a paid speaker, believe it or not. I’ll have a meeting with him to discuss the rest,” Von Helping said. “I could deliver the check to him myself if you think he’d be better in person.”

 

“He’s emphatically not.” Dean caught himself twisting the robotics syllabus in his hands and stopped. “I’m not sure when I’ll see him again, though.”

 

“I get that.” Von Helping walked around the desk to take the check. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”

 

“I can’t _not_ worry. It wasn’t my money to give.”

 

Von Helping crossed his arms. “Do you _want_ him to hold you accountable for it?”

 

“I-I don’t know. We have a hard time talking. I’m not really sure what he’ll do, but writing a check for a million dollars—He’s honestly one of the cheapest men alive. He’s going to go ballistic.”

 

“Would he _hurt_ you?”

 

Dean was unable to swallow. What could he say? _Yes, he’d hurt me. Yes, he’d manipulate me. But he’d also ignore me. He’d test his technology on me. But he won’t **hit** me._

 

“No,” Dean said. Unconvincingly.

 

Von Helping’s hand touched Dean’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

Dean pressed his lips together and looked down at the syllabi at his lap. He didn’t want Dr. Von Helping feeling sorry for him. That was very important, for some reason. “Doctor…”

 

“Yes? We’ve discussed my business. Why did you want to talk to me? Were you going to drop?”

 

“Honestly, I’m still thinking about it, but I don’t know. That’s not…” Dean sighed heavily. “I wanted to ask you about your accident. If you don’t mind!”

 

“Ohhh. I suppose I should have guessed someone like you’d be curious.” Von Helping sat back on his desk.

 

“It’s not _just_ scientific curiosity.” Dean found himself unable to expound on why he was so interested.

 

“Okay. Well, my accident did involve burns over most of my body, as most people know.” Von Helping narrowed his eyes. “The powers are a different story.”

 

Dean sat back, listening to Von Helping describing, essentially, his father’s rivalry with Dr. Alder Atomicus and Richard Impossible, and the accidental invocation of an extradimensional spirit of fire that had given Vigo Von Hellfire his name, and Guild Royalty to boot. Following, in a somewhat less dry tone, Von Helping related how he had been born with some mild pyrokinetic abilities. After losing control during a lab experiment, and intensifying his abilities far beyond his father’s, Victor had rejected his father’s plans for a team up to eliminate his enemies.

 

“I just couldn’t accept it. We had so much power. There was so much we could _do_.” Victor pressed his palms back into the desk. “What was the point of using it to hurt and harass other scientists? It made no sense to me. I’ve been struggling to be my own man ever since.”

 

He met Dean’s eye. “Does that help?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know how you ever get used to being fundamentally _different_. I _just_ got used to—“ Dean closed his mouth and diverted his gaze to a poster that read, “Love is a Chemical Reaction.”

 

“Used to _what_? Did something happen to you?”

 

Dean’s heart was pounding. His lips felt glued shut.

 

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to be able to help.” Von Helping’s voice was so gentle. That other side of him, the kind that flew and emanated fire, it was nowhere to be seen.

 

“I um, well…” Dean managed to swallow, feeling his stomach dropping to his feet. He still couldn’t admit what he’d come there for. “Did you ever try to use your scientific training to change yourself back?”

 

“God, of course, I did.” Von Helping laughed. “I tried everything I could think of.”

 

“So if I could think of a way…” Dean put his hands over his face and groaned, then rubbed his temples. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I’ll help if I can.” Von Helping waited for a moment. “No strings attached. Even if you never take a science class again, I’m here.”

 

“That’s really nice of you,” Dean muttered.

 

“I think you may have a low standard, but thank you.”

 

Dean said nothing for far too long. “I’m just torn, because I could maybe help people, but… It’s just so hard to live with.”

 

“That is entirely reasonable, believe it or not. Now, I don’t know what we might be able to do for you, but let’s be pie in the sky about this. Let’s say we could completely change whatever the problem is.” Von Helping leaned forward. “You could still help people _in other ways_. Just because you have an ability doesn’t mean you have to use it. You get to choose that.”

 

“I guess I do, but it’s hard not to, if it looks like you’re the only one who can help.”

 

“I understand. It’s the only reason I bring out the Hellfire anymore… that or I just lose my temper.”

 

Dean bit his lip. Dr. Von Helping watched him quietly.

 

“I don’t know what happens if I lose my temper,” Dean admitted. “I don’t know what happens if it doesn’t stop.”

 

“Would you like to start there?” Von Helping said tentatively. “Finding out more about yourself?”

 

“I probably could, if I went back to my dad’s… lab.”

 

Dr. Von Helping raised his brows. He looked a little angry.

 

“I mean, it _started_ as an accident,” Dean offered vaguely.

 

Von Helping stood and drew in a slow, deliberate breath. He might be getting close to losing his temper again. Would he come after Dean’s father if he did?

 

“Please, don’t—“ Dean began.

 

“Don’t? Oh, I won’t do _anything_ without talking to you first. I promise this. That includes tests that we might run and any conversations I might have with your father.”

 

“Then, can I ask you not to mention this to my father at all? Or OSI? Or… anyone?”

 

“Any of our discussions remain within these doors. Or in my lab, if you choose to take it that far.”

 

Dean nodded, slowly, as he tried to process what these next steps might be. He’d been so stuck in fear and denial (and no small amount of anger) that considering what to do about what happened had been beyond him. If Jared hadn’t offered Dean a place to live, would he still be toughing it out at the VenTech building? Afraid to try life on his own? To leave his family? To sleep?

 

“It’s hard for me to commit to telling anyone about this,” Dean said finally. “I’ve only really told Jared, and I’m not sure who else is safe to talk to. Besides, I met you yesterday.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“But if The Monarch doesn’t like you, that’s probably a good sign.”

 

Von Helping smiled. “You’re really not fond of him, hm?”

 

“He’s been harassing my family _literally_ all of my life. For no real reason, as far as I can tell.” Dean took a few deep breaths. “He literally sent his henchmen to kill my brother and me.”

 

“Oh my,” Von Helping said empathetically.

 

“And he succeeded.”

 

Dr. Von Helping’s eyes widened, his brows rose, and he pulled up a chair to sit beside Dean, leaning forward a little as he settled in to listen. The words started to tumble out of Dean’s mouth, one after the other, as though once those first three had come, the rest had been unblocked and spilled free easily. Soon he was explaining cloning, DNA screening, recording brain scans from a bed at night, OSI memory wipes coming undone, and those damn nanobots. With all the mental downloads, healing, and little edits to Dean’s physical abilities.

 

Dr. Von Helping remained silent when Dean had finished, waiting for more to come. But that was it for now. Dean felt a stab of panic. He half expected some hidden enemy to come out from somewhere, or a hidden recording device to be revealed.

 

“That’s a lot,” Von Helping finally said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m very grateful you have somewhere to stay.” Von Helping touched his arm.

 

“Jared’s been pretty great,” Dean said. “I still feel bad for leaving.”

 

“They betrayed your trust. You aren’t obligated to give it to them again.” Von Helping frowned, then walked back around to the other side of his desk. “And I’ll do my best to earn yours. Nano-technology isn’t really a specialty of mine, but I can help you understand what’s going on inside of you at least. Let’s set some time aside to work on this together.”

 

“Really?” Dean couldn’t hide the relief in his voice.

 

“Really.” Von Helping pulled out his jPad and started tapping. “And if I’m honest, I’d like to move you from my botany class to the human genetics class that Posey Isles is teaching this semester. She’s one of my research assistants. You already took Bio I last semester, and this should increase your understanding of what we’ll be looking at.”

 

“I could take both.”

 

“I’m not pushing you too much, am I?” Von Helping asked.

 

“No, I get it. I have a passing knowledge of genetics from reading my dad’s notes from the lab back at the compound, but I’m sure I have a lot of gaps.”

 

“It’s likely. Though you’re probably better than you think, if you understand the notes.”

 

Dean flipped through one of the syllabi. “And maybe Dr. Marsters’s robotics? Since everything I know is frankly based on technology that was created in the 70s and 80s.”

 

“That might be a good idea.” Von Helping tilted his head to the side. “Three classes. Should get your dad off your back for a while, too.”

 

“Anything to keep me and my dad from fighting all the time.”

 

“I definitely know what _that’s_ like.” Von Helping grinned.

 

Dean headed back to his dorm, his head full of plans. This could be a good thing or a terrible thing. Dr. Von Helping might be the worst person he could confide in, or maybe, for once, Dean had met someone who could help.

 

He got on his laptop and started rearranging his schedule one more time. Botany on Monday and Wednesday evenings. Robotics during the middle of the day Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and Human Genetics on Tuesday and Thursday.

 

Scanning over the rest of his schedule, he decided that he could finish the core requirement for history and freshman writing during the summer, then signed up for that Gender, Race, and Sex in Drama class Daphne had mentioned at the Orphan’s Christmas. He could check off the diversity credit there, and plays weren’t too demanding. He’d squeeze in a beginning modern dance class in the mornings, since he had wanted to check off his Phys Ed requirement before his freshman year was over, and he was afraid to do something sports-like that might involve adrenaline and too much contact.

 

That was as much as he could handle right now. He was a little frustrated to realize he’d ultimately given his father what he’d wanted, even if Dean was taking two fewer science classes, and the ones he’d chosen were different from the ones his father had selected. It gave Dean something to work with, though. It meant he could start trying to move forward, find a life for himself, begin feeling like a person again.

 

Dean scooped up the books that he needed to return to the bookstore. He could do this. He could get started again. Everything was going to be all right.

 

And if it wasn’t all right, at least everything might stop spiraling out of control.


	2. Laundry Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean comes home to do laundry, Hank is annoyed how everyone is focusing on Dean. He may be annoyed by the fact that Dean isn’t telling him something, and also Jared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to consolidate parts of this behemoth story, so I'm migrating the Laundry Day chapter into the larger Bargaining story. The rest of the parts of this arch will follow in this file.

“He jumped _out a window_?”

 

“A _million_ dollars?!”

 

“Through the _glass_?!”

 

“What were you _thinking_?!?!”

 

“ _Why_? Is he possessed again?”

 

“You’re supposed to be the _responsible_ one!”

 

As entertaining as it was to see Dean be the one on the receiving end of a top notch Rusty Venture flip out, Hank had to admit that the experience was somewhat undercut by Dean having one of his own. How they’d managed to not inform him that their dad was in the hospital, when they all had communicator watches, Hank had no idea. Dean seemed really upset, though.

 

“As far as I can tell, he was just possessed with _stupid_.” Brock eyed Jared. “Good to see ya in _clothes_.”

 

“You too,” Jared replied.

 

Brock’s face twitched, but he said nothing in response.

 

“You’re not going to say anything about him writing a check for _a million dollars_??” Rusty sputtered, gesturing at Dean.

 

“I think he over-estimated Monarch’s worth. He’s like, what now? A five?” Brock said. “But it holds up, anyhow, the strategy for handling this stuff. _You’ve_ paid The Monarch off before.”

 

“Not for that much! And I at least _tried_ to talk him down!”

 

Dean pulled his checkbook out of his bag and shoved it toward his father. “You’re _right_ , okay? I went overboard. I didn’t do it right.”

 

“What are you _doing_?” Rusty stepped back.

 

God, why were they so _bad_ at this? They were both so awkward and weird, like they couldn’t figure out which one of them was supposed to be the parent. Hank reached forward to snatch the checkbook, but Rusty grabbed it.

 

“Absolutely _not_. You’re just going to buy video games and kayaks and _zoo animals_ and throw parties.” Rusty pointed the checkbook at Hank. “Get a job.”

 

“Oh, _come on_! I didn’t blow a million dollars!” Hank protested.

 

“No, you blew nearly half a mil, on nothing but crap, when all the fees for having and _getting rid of_ that damn _giraffe_ were finally done with!”

 

Hank sulked. He shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of this.

 

“I only bought the giraffe for Dean,” Hank grumbled. “That’s what he _said_ he wanted. A big giraffe.”

 

“I meant a _stuffed_ giraffe,” Dean protested. He shook his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “Not the issue. Did Dr. Von Helping talk to you, Dad?”

 

“15 thousand isn’t a drop in the bucket, mister,” Rusty snapped.

 

Dean looked to Jared and then back to Rusty. “I don’t think he could ever pay it all, but he’s really determined to take responsibility.”

 

“What am I supposed to do with you now if I can’t trust you with a checkbook? How are you going to buy food and books and—“

 

“I already have my books for the semester, and I’m looking into a job on campus,” Dean argued. “I don’t need _anything_.”

 

Rusty put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you need _absolutely nothing_ from us, huh? You don’t need your _room_ here, you don’t need _money_ , you don’t need _science_ —“

 

“I’m taking _three_ science classes,” Dean objected.

 

Wait, what? When had _that_ happened? Hank dropped onto the arm of the sofa. He should really just leave until everyone got done fighting about Dean.

 

“What? Which classes are you taking?” Rusty demanded.

 

Dean ticked each off on his fingers. “Botany with Dr. Von Helping, Human Genetics with Professor Isles, and Beginning Robotics with Dr. Marsters.”

 

“This Von Helping got you to take some science classes?” Rusty narrowed his eyes guardedly.

 

“I mean, yeah, a couple of them.”

 

“Well, if that’s the case, he can forget about paying back the rest,” Rusty said.

 

Hank threw his hands in the air and fell back onto the cushions. Jared came over and sat a few inches from his head. Hank looked back at him, annoyed still, but a little amused that he wasn’t the only one getting ignored.

 

“That Von Helping performed a damned _miracle_. I’m lucky you’re not taking a _theatre_ class. Do I know this guy? Marsters, I know.” Rusty clicked his tongue. “He’s an asshole, but a good scientist, I’m told.”

 

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, in that way he did when he was about say something that was only half true. “No, I don’t think you know Dr. Von Helping. He’s involved in Greenpeace, and Doctors without Borders, and all that stuff.”

 

“Ah.” Rusty’s interest in The Good Doctor seemed to fade. He smacked the checkbook against his hand. “And you’ve found a job?”

 

“I put in at the cafeteria, library, and a couple of places right near campus, because I don’t have a car.” Dean drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll find something, Dad. I won’t starve. And I have all the books I need for the semester.”

 

“And you’re wearing this hobo’s jacket over a hoodie, because, what? It’s the style?”

 

“I lost my coat.”

 

Rusty pointed at him. “I’m getting you a new coat. But this’ll do for now.”

 

Dean sighed. “Can I ask you what happened to your face now? And why no one called me?”

 

“C’mon, Dean. It was your first day of school,” Brock said. “Nothin’ you could do. The doctors got him all patched up and shot up with morphine. He wouldn’t’ve even known you were there.”

 

“Know, care, what’s the difference?” Hank grumbled.

 

Jared looked down on him curiously.

 

“I would’ve still come,” Dean said to Brock. “Just because I don’t live ‘at the compound’ doesn’t mean I don’t want to know if one of you nearly _dies_.”

 

“Don’t argue with your bodyguard, Dean. It was nothing.” Rusty waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve been through worse.”

 

“That’s not the whining _I_ heard when you were in the hospital,” Hank said under his breath.

 

“So you’d rather I just go to class than visit you whenever you or Hank jump off a building?” Dean said.

 

“I’m fine when I jump off a building!” Hank said. “I know how to use a grapping hook gun and not fling myself through glass face first!”

 

“I covered my face!” Rusty said.

 

“Not very well,” Dean muttered. His breathing hitched.

 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m _fine_. I’ll be healed up in no time!”

 

Hank sat up at the softening of his father’s voice. Dean was reaching to touch the stitches and looking like he might cry.

 

They should’ve called him. But Dean shouldn’t’ve left them.

 

Hank flopped back and stared at Jared. “So, how come you follow my brother everywhere?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“What, he can’t come back here without a friend?”

 

Instead of looking offended or laughing, like he might, Jared frowned. He was serious. And worried.

 

“Wait.” Hank sat up. “Am I _right_? Does he not want to come back unless someone’s with him?”

 

“No, it’s not like that.” Jared glanced over at Dean guiltily, then said, “I’d prefer he didn’t come alone.”

 

“ _What_?” Hank screwed his brows together, trying to unpuzzle that one. “What do you think is gonna happen to him?”

 

Jared frowned and raked his eyes over Hank. Sort of the way Brock did when he and Dean got back from a kidnapping or something, and he was assessing how much shit he needed to beat outta somebody.

 

“How are _you_ doing, Hank?” he asked.

 

“Pfft.” Hank got up and went to his room. Dean’s old room. _His_ room.

 

He kicked one of the boxes of stuff Dean left.

 

* * *

 

“—definitely _not_ the way they were in their original state. I don’t think we could possibly get them out now.”

 

“Were you still hoping for that?”

 

“I think I was. But at least they aren’t still _evolving_. I mean, they _could_ , but they aren’t _right now_. Dr. Von Helping was right. I do feel a little better now that we’re looking into this.”

 

“I’m really glad. I wouldn’t tell anyone to just suck it up, y’know, but that middle ground… Phew. It’s just a really tough place to live.”

 

What the heck were they talking about? Hank peered into the laundry room where the washer was running and Dean was folding underwear and sweaters. He was standing there in a tank top and his jeans, and he just… looked different.

 

He’d known Dean all of his life, and he’d never stood like that before. His shoulders seemed a little broader, his biceps a little more prominent. And he was _taller_. Had he grown in the last month? He couldn’t have changed that fast, could he?

 

But yeah, he _could_. Dean changed fast. He was lightning fast. From the budding boy scientist to the kid dreaming of being a reporter. From daddy’s boy to the kid dressed in black head to toe snapping that he didn’t eat “face.” At the beginning of the summer, Dean had practically _died_ running laps. Now he was taking science classes again out of _nowhere_ and seemed to have gotten knocked around with the puberty stick.

 

Dean was going full speed, round and round, while he lapped Hank. And Hank… He was jogging in place. He was practically running backward. Brock had stonewalled him on the OSI thing. Being a billionaire playboy wasn’t an option, since it wasn’t his own money and his dad wouldn’t budge on fronting him any cash. Hank didn’t have the nighttime routine to justify it anyway.

 

Dean would change directions ten times before Hank even found a single path to follow.

 

Jared spotted Hank first. Hank should’ve known he would with those spider powers. He nudged Dean’s shoulder and, weirdly, Dean quickly slipped one of those university hoodies over his head before turning to face him.

 

“Oh. Hey, Hank.”

 

Huh. So that nervousness _wasn’t_ about Hank. Dean turned back to his laundry.

 

“Have you seen my coat? It’s okay if you borrowed it.”

 

“No, I don’t have your stupid, old coat. It makes you look like a blue and white marshmallow.”

 

“Maybe it was in my closet somewhere?” Dean walked out toward the bedrooms.

 

“I stuck most of your old stuff in the toddler rocket room,” Hank said.

 

Dean paused, just for a second, then corrected course and headed for the smaller room. Inside, he went to the boxes piled bedside the bed and opened one up to dig through it.

 

“Does it matter where it is? Dad said he’d get you a new one.”

 

“I don’t want him to have to do that.”

 

“Because of the cool mil you gave to our enemy?” Hank gloated.

 

Dean’s lips twisted to the side, and he gave Hank a flat look before he returned to digging. Dean pushed the box aside and reached for a new one, then did a double-take and stared at the sides of the boxes.

 

“Virginity protectors?” Dean said incredulously.

 

Hank grinned proudly. “And dork supplies!”

 

“I set my dork supplies up in the dorm,” Dean deadpanned. “But the virginity protectors are working pretty well so far.” He moved on to another box, then made a noise of frustration and sat on the bed.

 

“Just let the guy buy you a coat. It’s not like you’ll get another penny out of him for the rest of your natural life,” Hank said.

 

“Maybe after one of my _unnatural_ lives.” Dean leaned back on his palms. “You know the money for my college comes from a fund Uncle JJ put away for us.”

 

“Then how come I don’t get any of it?” Hank leaned back against the closet.

 

“Because the lawyers won’t release it for anything but tuition. It’s ours, but we can’t get it unless you or I go to school.” Dean tapped his toe against one of the boxes. “I think Uncle JJ was trying to make sure Dad didn’t waste it.”

 

“I’m not going to college.”

 

“… Why not?”

 

“What? I’m not a dork like you, Dean. I don’t wanna sit in a classroom for the rest of my life!”

 

“At most, it would probably be four or five years. No one expects you to study science and get a doctorate,” Dean pointed out. “You could get a degree in… I dunno. Communications, or musical theatre, and it wouldn’t make a difference. Except that you’d _have one_.”

 

“I’d never get in. You have to take all those dumb tests and learn all that dumb math,” Hank grumbled.

 

“I can promise you that wouldn’t matter. If you decided to go for it, Dad would _make_ it happen.” Dean tented his brows. “I’d help you study, too. I know all that dumb math.”

 

Hank scowled and stared at the wallpaper. It was easy for Dean to say that. He’d just studied for a night and aced the test. Whatever he’d written on his application had wowed the university on the first try.

 

“I don’t have time anyway. You guys take classes all day long.”

 

“You can take fewer classes. I’m taking five. Sirena is taking _six_ , which is the maximum allowed. I’m 90% sure she wants to get her degree and move out of her father’s place as soon as possible.”

 

“So you guys have something in common.”

 

Hank wished he hadn’t said that as soon as it came out of his mouth, but the look on Dean’s face was enough to add another kick of guilt. Dean opened his mouth slightly, then closed it.

 

“I had to.” Dean got up quickly. “Everything was too crazy here for me to study. Dr. Nidaba basically told me the work I was turning in was terrible because I couldn’t focus at home.”

 

Hank crossed his arms. “He was a super-villain.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”

 

Dean was definitely hiding something. Hank just couldn’t tell what it was.

 

“Are there any more boxes in my- your room?” Dean walked out before getting an answer.

 

Hank sighed. After a few minutes, he heard Jared and Dean talking again in the hallway and went out to see what the deal was. They sounded intense.

 

Jared sensed Hank before he arrived again and vagued up his language right away. “So I can go do that _thing_ I have to do and be right back.”

 

Dean frowned and then looked right at Hank. “Oh. Well, maybe I could help you with that um, thing, you have to do?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Unless you want to do it alone—“

 

“Oh, no. It’s just that you didn’t seem like you, uh, had a very good time last time.”

 

“It was definitely a _new_ experience…”

 

Hank stared at them for another minute and then retreated to the living room. What were they talking about? Were they banging or something? The thought almost made Hank want to go back in and listen to the rest… but at the same time, it made him really, really not want to hear it.

 

Dean and Jared departed moments later, with a few cheerful words from Dean that he’d be back to finish his laundry. Hank pretended to be distracted with his phone, even though Sirena was definitely in the middle of some study group and had told him she’d bite his toes off if he texted her before 8pm.

 

“Hank. Shove over.” Brock glided into the room, picked up the remote, and dropped next to him on the sofa. “Where’d Dean and that _man_ go?”

 

“I dunno. Off to do something. They’ll be back.”

 

Brock grunted in dissatisfaction.

 

“You don’t like Jared, huh?”

 

“Not even a little.”

 

Hank shrugged. “He seems nice. Kinda nosy.”

 

“He’s a weird one. OSI has had an eye on him for a while, but he’s hard to pin down. Doesn’t recognize treaty rules. Ignores patrol borders. Made friends of his last two arches.”

 

“That sounds cool.”

 

“Eh. Neither side likes that much. You start blurrin’ the lines, things get fuzzy, people don’t know where one side begins and the other ends. Puts people out.” Brock started flipping through channels to get to a football game.

 

“You don’t like him because he makes friends?”

 

“Hm. Maybe.”

 

“I dunno. Gary lived in our backyard for a while. Uncle Vatred flipped sides twice. Does it matter if Spider-Jared doesn’t fit in a box? He’s not what you’d call a big player.”

 

Brock glared at the screen. Maybe it did matter. Or he was grumpy about something else Jared did. Hank propped his feet on the coffee table. Partially because Brock was doing it. Partially because as long as his dad wasn’t around, no one would complain.

 

“How come you went so easy on Dean for what he did with The Monarch?” Hank asked finally. “You guys would’ve flipped out and grounded me forever if I confronted the guy while he was arching someone else. Plus, the way Dean did it was super dumb.”

 

“It wasn’t finessed, that was for sure. But I wouldn’t’ve gotten there in time, and remember Monarch had a blade to your girlfriend’s neck. Not to mention, I was kinda _distracted_ by some home intruders.”

 

Hank bit his lip and pretended watch the television.

 

Brock sighed heavily. “He should’a offered less. Monarch is broke. Or he was. Not too many people knew that, but he was off trying to rob a bank that day, before Widow put the beat-down on him. The Monarch would’ve definitely accepted as low as maybe 50 thou.”

 

“So Dean and I can pay off enemies, as long as we get the right _amount_?”

 

“Look, ya can’t ground someone who doesn’t live here,” Brock pointed out. “Frankly, Hank, I think your dad is just glad The Monarch didn’t do more to Dean. It makes him nervous that Dean’s out there on his own.”

 

“He’s got Jared.”

 

“Doesn’t count. He’s not one of us. Things could get bad, and it would take time to even get to Dean.” Brock looked down. “Doc fussed some about Dean leaving, but I tried to talk him out of it longer. Never seen that boy so stubborn about something. It’s… strange. He’s not like you, Hank. He’s not _strong_ like you. We’re gonna worry about him more.”

 

Hank grimaced and sunk deeper into the sofa. “I don’t think that’s true. He left home. That’s hard. He walked right up to Dad and said ‘Hey, I screwed up, lemme fix it.’ That’s hard, too. He’s taking all these classes and doing his own laundry and stuff. Using public transit. Getting a job. It’s all hard stuff. I don’t think I could do it.”

 

“But if some huge _hulk_ of a hench attacks him? Some cut-throat with decades of training and a mountain of muscle? You think he’s gonna get outta that one _alive_? If he gets kidnapped and tortured? You think it won’t break him?” Brock shook his head. “I’m amazed he made it through the first semester. Had visions of someone jumpin’ him on campus before he could run those skinny legs of his away.”

 

Hank thought about that. His brother actually having to face some of the crazy shit they’d dealt with all their lives all alone. Would he even call his family for help?

 

“We should call him next time Dad gets hurt, though,” Hank said.

 

“Yeah, dropped the ball on that one. This is all pretty new for us.”

 

Hank nodded. “Hey, have you seen that coat Dean has been searching for? He’s acting like he left a treasure map in the pocket.”

 

“Dunno. I haven’t seen it since the Blue Morpho sting when I stuck it on ‘im.”

 

“He wasn’t wearing a coat when we went out with Shore Leave,” Hank said.

 

“Then he lost it before he got to the ground floor, because that coat was definitely on his back.”

 

“Huh.”

 

Hank was done with the mystery of the ugly coat. He watched the game in silence with Brock (apart from a couple of disgruntled barks at the ref), and then went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Rusty was down in the lab right now, working on another wild idea that would probably come to nothing.

 

He checked his phone. It was only 6:45pm. He tapped it against the table and tried to think of something to keep himself occupied until then. Maybe next time the ambiguously nerdy duo asked him to do something on campus he should just go along with the dorkness. Dermott had been on radio silence for the past couple of months, and even though Hank considered himself to be the more sociable twin, he didn’t really have anyone else in New York. Everyone he interacted with was an adult, his girlfriend, or his brother.

 

And his brother wasn’t around. And he wasn’t coming back any time soon. That was super obvious.


	3. Sirena's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirena navigates her week with between her relationship, school, therapy, and her batshit home life.

“They put up a clock on me. Of course, every kid in the life has one, according to Guild rules, and that’s been the way of things for a long time. I dunno exactly how long, but at some point, maybe to keep it so not so many pedos end up in the Guild by, like, _default_. But that’s the way it is. Until you’re thirteen, no grabbin’ the kids, no threatenin’ the kids. People break the fuckin’ rules all the damn time, especially when protags are active and shit, but there’s a standard.

 

“I guess I had two clocks, then. The one for where people could grab me to punish Daddy for stuff he done to them, or milk ‘im for money, and then the one where they could fuck me without The Council draggin’ them outta their beds at night and offin’ ‘em in some crazy _Saw_ kinda way.”

 

Sirena looked down at her chipped manicure and pursed her lips. “Daddy had a big ol’ party on my eighteenth birthday. A big ‘FUCK YOU’ to everybody who ought to know who I am, so’s the whole Council knows my face. Don’t fuckin’ touch her. She belongs to me. And she always will.”

 

Her eyes lifted, briefly. The room was small and dingy. Just a tiny little room in the Student Health building. The other kids sat there, listening with lurid interest.

 

“They called it a Pop Clock. Y’know, ‘cause they was gonna pop my cherry. Pluck me like ripe fruit when it was finally _allowed_. According to Daddy though, it never would be. He’d fuckin’ kill anybody who touched me, he said. All the time, he said, and everybody knew it. No one touches Sirena. Not eva.” Sirena tried to affect her most bored expression. “But who gives a fuck about that, right? You can’t go through your whole life without bein’ touched. I had sex with my swim coach when I was fifteen.”

 

Sirena closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. “Daddy had the shit beat outta him. After, he turned the guy in to the cops. I think that was the first time I ever saw him talk to the cops where there wasn’t money changin’ hands.”

 

“That’s fucked up,” Eddie said. He sat across from her in the circle.

 

Mallory, the psych grad student running the session, held up a hand.  “Eddie, this is a safe space, and it’s her turn to speak.”

 

“You can’t just ruin some guy’s life like that,” Eddie objected.

  
Sirena shrugged and fanned her nails out for deeper examination. She needed to go in to get ‘em fixed. She’d been chewing on the sides too much.

 

“Are you _kidding_? You can’t possibly be serious about that.”

 

A familiar voice. One Sirena had begun to hear on a semi-regular basis. In her Botany class. In her Drama class. Now, probably thanks to the professor of the former class, he was here in group, too. Dr. Von Helping was a big proponent of mental health. He always had pamphlets ready in his office for Student Services.

 

“What, some underage chick decides she wants to rebel against Daddy—“ Eddie sneered, mimicking Sirena’s accent. “—and this guy has to live with it all his life?”

 

“There’s no way _her coach_ didn’t know how old she was. He got what he deserved,” Dean said, his voice cracking a little as he edged forward in his seat. “He was the _adult_. She was the kid. It was _his responsibility_ to say no. It’s not like she tricked him. _He knew her._ He just didn’t care, and that’s disgusting.”

 

Sirena raised a brow as she watched Dean getting all aggressively grumpy. That guy was like a clenched fist with red hair sometimes.

 

“Sorry, Sirena,” Dean said, looking at her apologetically.

 

“No problem. I don’t feel too bad for ‘im.” Sirena set her hands in her lap. “I wasn’t the only girl he fooled around with. Most of ‘em didn’t walk into his office and drop their suit on the floor.”

 

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned.

 

Dean shot him a look that was somewhere between murder and Care-Bear. That snub nose of his prevented him from ever looking all that threatening. It was kinda cute. Hank had the same nose.

 

But she’d never told Hank most of this stuff. He’d definitely put his fight face on.

 

Mallory scooted up on her chair. “Go ahead, Sirena.”

 

Sirena looked up at the broken clock. The second hand was ticking, but the minute hand was stuck.

 

“I wonder if boys get a Pop Clock,” Sirena mused aloud. “They oughta. You’d think they would. But I never hear nobody talking about punchin’ some protag’s son’s clock.” She paused, looking at Dean again as she remembered something Hank had mentioned. His cheeks grew bright red.

 

“It’s sixteen for boys,” he muttered.

 

Ünderbheit had been cheating, then. Hank had said the guy thought Dean was a girl when he’d tried to marry him. The dick had probably not even asked how old Dean was.

 

“Yeah, that’s gross.” Sirena sighed heavily. “What, am I supposed to feel bad for going out and screwin’ when I want to? Am I supposed t’just sit at home and let people run my whole goddamn life? Let ‘em decide when they get to ‘take my innocence’ like they been talkin’ about since the day they first thought they could see my tits starting to sprout up in a sundress? _Fuck them_. Fuck all of ‘em.”

 

“Fuck _all guys_?” Eddie interrupted.

 

“Hashtag NotAllMen!” Dean said throwing his hands up in frustration.

 

The tension started to disperse as members of the group laughed. Sirena smiled at Dean. He was still blushing, but he smiled back, a bit. The repressed little nerd.

 

“Do I need to remind everyone of the rules here? Because it isn’t the place of anyone here to pass judgment.” Mallory said. “Please let Sirena have her time.”

 

“Whateva. I don’t know what I wanna say. There was just some old friends of my dad’s over this weekend, and Rocco was stuck to me like glue. They known me since I was seven, and I heard ‘em, once, like maybe four years ago, talkin’ about my boobs comin’ in and how soft my thighs probably were and shit.” Sirena pushed her hair out of her face. “I known them foreva. They’re like uncles, or somethin’. But I can’t be alone with ‘em. It sucks.”

 

She let herself rant for a few more minutes. The rest of the group listened obediently before Mallory offered some advice (gentle, but prescriptive, as always) and allowed the group to discuss. A few of the girls related similar experiences, if not as bizarre for not being Guild Princesses like Sirena was. The boys didn’t. Sirena knew that didn’t mean they _hadn’t_ been threatened like she had been. It just meant, like with Dean, they chose not to talk about it. He hadn’t talked much, other than to introduce himself the week before.

 

And that sucked in a different way. If she couldn’t say what was on her mind, she’d probably explode.

 

After a few other people had spoken and their time was up, Sirena fell in with Barda and Emily on her way out of Student Health and listened to Barda complaining about Eddie as she towered over the other two girls. The guy had a big mouth, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. They all needed a place to talk, and the shrinks in training at the Student Center had stuck them all into the same group for a reason. Anyway, if Sirena went to a real therapist, her dad would probably have the office bugged. She didn’t know for sure that he didn’t now, really, but she had some measure of freedom as long as they could track her within the confines of campus.

 

Student Health had a good deal. Five free individual sessions before you had to pay. Free group. Sirena wasn’t shy around the group, so it was fine for her. She had to wonder if the more reserved members were getting the same stuff out of it, though. Emily was quiet in big groups. But she definitely always listened.

 

Emily crossed her arms over herself, maybe from the cold, maybe because otherwise it would be too easy to reach for Sirena’s hand.

 

“How long before he gets kicked out, do you think?” Barda said.

 

“He probably don’t,” Sirena said.

 

“At least someone told him off this time,” Emily said quietly.

 

She hadn’t spoken during the discussion either. But she’d told Sirena about that time in her uncle’s house before.

 

“Yeah, almost like chivalry ain’t really dead,” Sirena drawled.

 

“He was cute. I forgot his name,” Barda said.

 

“I think he’s gay,” Sirena said.

 

Barda clicked her tongue in annoyance. “How would you know?”

 

“The way he cuffs his jeans.”

 

Emily covered her mouth as she laughed. “Noo, Sirena stop.”

 

“From the way he dresses, he’s either gay or homeless, and I know he lives on campus.”

 

“What a waste,” Barda sighed. “But you shouldn’t date someone in your therapy group anyway.”

 

Sirena and Emily met eyes briefly, then looked away. But… what they’d done wasn’t exactly _dating_. And it had been months ago anyway.

 

At least Em wasn’t mad at her.

 

_“Your choices are always going to have an impact. I know sometimes it may not feel as though anything you do matters, that you’re always trapped inside this cage made of toxic behavior and your father’s control, but these things do matter. They have an effect on the people around you. They have an effect on you. And you don’t need to punish yourself just to prove to him that you’re a person.”_

Mallory always seemed like she cared so much. Sometimes, Sirena even wanted to look like she was doing better, just so this woman, only five years older than her, wouldn’t have to worry.

 

* * *

 

Bogged down with six classes, Sirena barely had time to go piss. Three days a week, she moved from her 8am first-year writing class, to history, to psych, and after time in the library, Botany. Two days a week, she had her Drama class and Stats, and then after that…

 

There were study groups so she could pass all these classes. And group therapy, so she didn’t pop her top before she could get out of Tophet Tower.

 

Things weren’t good. They were never good. It was always like she had cinderblocks strapped to her shoulders, and then after that, her dad would cup her chin and smile and offer to wrap her in a blanket and make it better. Cinder blocks and all.

 

Doing her best impression of a bitch with no cinder blocks on her shoulders, Sirena entered Hadrian Hall. Botany had picked up three more students. Probably some of Von Helping’s kids, coaxed into taking the class so that the university wouldn’t cancel it. They did that sometimes.

 

Dean wasn’t sitting with the other students. Greg, Alexis, and Mary. They were clustered in a group talking about some upcoming play. The Humanities kids liked Botany. It was an easy class, as far as the sciences went, easier than Astronomy, which sounded cool but had a ton of math in every lab.

 

Sirena liked it because she liked Dr. Von Helping. He’d been at one of her father’s big, fancy parties two years ago. He’d been so… understanding.

 

Anyways, he understood the scientific method and wasn’t like, an _evangelical_ about science. She’d come to his office asking if he had a suggestion for a class for her, and told him she was majoring in psychiatry, and he listened to every word. He’d always been a good listener.

 

“…I can bring the notes to your lab if you want,” Dean was saying. “Some burned in the fire, but I had some extra copies in the attic.”

 

Sirena sat up front. Where she and Dean tended to sit ever since that first night, soaking up Dr. Von Helping’s bad jokes and the structure of cell walls and all that junk. Dean and Von Helping were deep, deep in the conversation, talking all kinds of gibberish about DNA and markers and whatever else.

 

She got out a book and cracked it open. After a moment, she checked her phone and felt her insides clench up.

 

Message after message after message after message.

 

_I ain’t answering all of this mess_

_but yeah my day was ok and I ate at the caf for lunch, salmon and mac n cheese_

_test in history and we watched a TED talk in fyw_

 

Sirena took a picture of Dean and Von Helping and sent it to Hank with the words, _teacher’s pet_

_LOL,_ Hank answered immediately. _can i see you tonight_

 

Sirena leaned her cheek on her hand and sighed. Going out tonight would mean he might leave her alone tomorrow… But if she went out tonight, she wouldn’t enjoy it. She’d be so exhausted.

 

_sneak up into my room. we can netflix and fall asleep on each other_

_i can’t get up there,_ Hank complained.

Oh, right. His ride was trashed. She wanted to hassle him about standing up to her father, but that wasn’t so easy right now. Her dad was up to something. She didn’t know what, but getting Hank tangled up in it would be getting Hank killed.

 

“Sorry.” Dean dropped into the seat next to her as Dr. Von Helping got his lecture notes together.

 

“Hey, how are you with cars?”

 

“I can barely drive,” Dean answered honestly.

 

“That’s so sexy, baby boy, lemme tell ya.” Sirena rolled her eyes. “No, listen. Hank needs his hover car-pod-thing.”

 

“I told Hank I need the schematics for it.” Dean opened his folder. “I’m not a super genius. I don’t know how it works. Something to do with magnets, but magnets don’t normally work that way.”

 

Sirena groaned. She texted Hank quickly to tell him they could do something tomorrow.

 

“Sorry,” Dean said again. Quietly this time, as the projector had sprung to life with a PowerPoint armed with the daily lesson and fresh Dad Jokes.

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

Note-taking, followed a practical lesson with some of Von Helping’s darling specimens, and it was over. Sirena felt like melting into the table. She was glad for the end of the day, but dreading the drive home, walking into that building, watching her father making deals and whispering as they shared a dinner table.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean was standing over her, long and lean and fragile-looking.

 

“Whatever. Just tired, you know.”

 

“Yeah. It’s a long day.” Dean lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head, letting it cross over his chest. “Do you want me to walk with you to your car?”

 

“Nah. Gonna talk to Dr. VH for a minute.”

 

Dean raised a brow, and she shoved him. Hard.

 

“Knock it off, stringbean. I can take care of myself.”

 

“I didn’t think you _couldn’t_ ,” Dean said. “It’s just a long walk to the parking lots, even if you got here at the ass crack of dawn.”

 

“Go on. Or wait at the door. I don’t care.” Sirena pushed herself up and walked up to Dr. Von Helping. Dean, obediently, had disappeared. She felt a slight stab of guilt, but pushed it away. “Hey, Doc.”

 

“Hey, Sirena. Got something on your mind?”

 

“Yeah, it’s uh… not exactly botany. I heard you and Dean talkin’. You’re real good on that DNA, genetics kinda stuff, right?”

 

“I’m passable.” Von Helping set his bag down and leaned back against the podium. “What do you need?”

 

“Just, like, a DNA test? What would you need to do it?”

 

Von Helping rubbed a hand over his mouth and frowned. “What kind of test? Different tests would need different samples.”

 

“Shit.” Sirena glanced toward the door. “Forget it.”

 

“Sirena—“ Von Helping reached for Sirena’s arm but stopped before touching her.

 

She had been about to grab her bag and bolt, but instead she stilled, sensing his hand—its off-color approximation of skin, its nearly human texture, with something hard and inflexible underneath—as it hovered near her own oversensitive flesh. It was kind of him, not to touch her when she wasn’t expecting it. She looked up at Dr. Von Helping, preferring always to see people with her eyes and not her skin.

 

“I dunno if I can get a sample without my dad knowing,” she admitted.

 

“From your father?”

 

“From my uncle. Uncle Doug? Dr. Dugong?”

 

“Ah.” Von Helping smiled. “I actually know your uncle. We moved in similar circles, especially when it came to my work cleaning and protecting ocean habitats. I was very glad to hear that he was still alive! I don’t think it would be terribly onerous for me to secure a few samples…”

 

He paused, looking at her intently. “If I knew what kind to procure… and _why_.”

 

Sirena pushed her hair back off her shoulders. She didn’t have enough evidence to believe this. It was something she felt. A kinship in the skin she’d sensed when she’d met her uncle for the first time. She just wanted to be sure. Her father had been so determined to keep her from knowing Uncle Doug. So determined she never know that he existed _at all_.

 

She’d never really known her mom, either. Though, her mom had probably been some normal lady. Pretty, her dad had said, but Sirena had to take his word for it. It was like she’d come into existence, fully formed—a babe on seafoam—then taken into immediate captivity.

 

“Is it hard to tell,” Sirena asked finally, “if you’re lookin’ at two brothers, which one’s someone’s dad?”

 

* * *

 

Sirena was almost disappointed when she walked out of the building to find Dean wasn’t there. Not that she needed an escort, or anything. That was what happened when you told people to go away. Either they actually left you alone, or they ignored what you said you wanted. Not exactly a fair situation.

 

Feeling a lump in her throat, Sirena checked her phone to see a modest amount of messages from Hank. She smiled wistfully. He was trying. He _was_. He just had so little to occupy himself with right now, and she was at school all the time. It had been easier when he’d had a job and she’d had fewer classes.

 

She felt herself creeping. The harder he pushed, the more she wanted to creep away. Just like everything else, though, knowing what she did, and how she screwed things up, just having that knowledge didn’t help. It didn’t make her stop acting this way. It didn’t keep her from shutting down.

 

 _meet me at the club tomorrow. don’t worry about the cash. i always get in free._ She texted Hank the address and the time.

 

It was something. Getting to spend time with him, when it was fun and easy like it had been when they first started up, that helped.

 

She spotted Dean walking close beside Mary a few feet in front of her and realized that rather than just giving up on her, he’d found someone else to escort to their car. Weirdo. For a moment, she considered blowing him off again, but it would be stalkerish to just walk behind them for ten minutes without saying anything.

 

“You joined the Spider Scouts, huh?” Sirena said as she caught up to them.

 

“What?” Mary looked at Sirena like she’d grown another head.

 

“You think this fetus can protect ya from the denizens of the night?” Sirena grinned at Dean. “Look at that skinny ass.”

 

“Was Dr. Von Helping able to uh, help?” Dean asked, ignoring everything Sirena had just said.

 

“Yeah, he had some ideas,” Sirena answered sparingly.

 

In spite of herself, she fell in step beside them. Dean and Mary went back to talking about some upcoming dance recital, which Sirena resisted the urge to mock. She hadn’t realized that the two of them were in some dance class together. She had a hard time imagining Dean dancing.  Sort of like a stork in a leotard.

 

* * *

 

Barda stretched up toward the sky, her mid-drift exposed under her sparkling blue halter top that barely met the rise of her jeans to begin with. At 5’9 (Sirena had asked), it wasn’t like she needed heeled boots, and yet she was wearing them, and making Sirena feel like a tiny moppet in comparison.

 

Hank was late. Not that it mattered with the huge line going into The Up and Down. Sirena pulled her coat around her and made noises of irritation deep in her throat.

 

“Ain’t you cold?” Sirena demanded.

 

“Of course, hon, but you can’t see my sideboob when I’m wearing a coat.”

 

“You’re evil. You know that? That’s some dedicated evil.”

 

Barda leaned to the side, draping her silky blonde hair over Sirena’s face.

 

“Ugh, God! Get offa me!”

 

“Is that the first time you’ve ever said that to somebody?”

 

“Can it, ho.” Sirena pushed her away. “I’m goin’ in without your skinny, tall ass.”

 

“ _I’ll_ get in.” Barda slipped out her compact and checked her lipstick. Vicious Trollop. That was that color.

 

Sirena looked away and raised her brows as she spotted Katie Evans. She hadn’t seen her in forever.

 

“HEY! KATIE!” Sirena screamed.

  
Barda covered her ears. “Goddamn, Sirena! Your _voice_!”

 

“My voice is gorgeous. KATIE!!”

 

Finally, a normal-sized person. Katie was roughly Sirena’s height, and she had the decency to look cold in her puffy blue and white coat. She half-jogged over to Sirena and Barda.

 

“God, girl, where’ve you been?” Sirena wrapped her arms around Katie.

 

“Nowhere.” Katie squeezed her back tightly. “Just around, you know.”

 

“I know. If I didn’t have school, my dad would keep me up in the tower 24/7!”

 

“Old people can’t change,” Katie breezed.

 

Sirena laughed. “Not a speck!”

 

“Hey, up there!” Katie craned her neck back, squinting and waving as though she could barely see Barda’s face.

 

“Ha!” Sirena pointed to Barda.

 

“Funny, shrimps.” Barda crossed her arms. “You two look super fat in those coats.”

 

“Snowbesity is no joke.” Katie puffed out her cheeks and hugged her sides, making the coat puff out more.

 

Sirena took her hand and pulled her into the line. “You’re here to get in, right? I’m waitin’ for my boyfriend. He don’t think I’m fat.”

 

“Who’s your boyfriend? Do I know him?”

 

“No one from school. He’s the boy next door. Or the cute one, anyway. His name’s Hank.”

 

“If he gets here before we reach the front of the line.” Barda looked around. “You’re not gonna stay out here if he doesn’t make it, are you?”

 

Sirena frowned and looked at her phone. He hadn’t been texting her, so he was probably on the move. “He’ll be here.”

 

“Oh, there he is!” Katie said. She sucked in her lower lip and bounced on her toes.

 

Sirena turned to see Hank. Her cheeks went red. Barda cackled in laughter.

 

“Noooo, that’s not him!”

 

“Shut it, you harpy!” Sirena smacked her side and hurried toward where Hank was wandering and looking through the line. “Babe, why are you wearin’ a cape?”

 

“You said this club was fancy! This is the fanciest thing I own.” Hank held it out. “It’s not even a Batman cape!”

 

“People are gonna think you belong in a home!” Sirena said. “What is wrong with you?”

 

Hank’s pout made Sirena’s heart sink into her stomach.

 

“I thought you’d like it.”

 

“Well, at least you ain’t dressed like Michael Jackson. Get on up here. I’m just with my girlfriends.”

 

As their hands met, Sirena’s felt a little swell in her chest. His skin, softer and smoother than it should be, against hers. It brought pieces of her to life that she wanted deep asleep. That goofy grin, and that silly, childlike way of being in the world. It was so fresh and pure. She felt a little like she was sullying it just by holding his hand.

 

Barda hadn’t stopped laughing when they returned. Sirena was about to reach up and pop her one in the nose. Her surgeon had created it; he could damn well fix it again. But Katie was looking at Hank and reaching for the cape.

 

“This is so cool. You’re like _Lando_!” She felt the fabric between her fingers.

 

“Yeah! Exactly!” Hank swept it around himself and posed.

 

Sirena covered her mouth and chuckled. Katie looked up at him, sucking in her lower lip and tugging on her left ear.

 

“So, how did you and Sirena meet?” Katie’s voice was like cotton candy, and her eyes seemed full of stars.

 

Katie sure was more flirty than Sirena remembered. Sirena leaned into Hank as he launched into the story. Complete with sweeping movements of his hands and sound effects. It wasn’t exactly how she remembered it. Though, she had been underwater at the time. And she always enjoyed Hank telling the story of how he’d appeared on her doorstep with the pizza, which inevitably followed from the “I thought you drowned, so I jumped off a building” story.

 

Katie looked like she might melt into a puddle. Even Barda shut her trap for a few minutes to listen.

 

Standing in a line in the cold was not how Sirena had planned to spend her Friday night with her boyfriend. Come midnight, Rocco would come looking for her, and she’d have to head back home. No more excuses. No more time out.

 

“Let’s get outta here. It’s gonna be too crowded.” Sirena tugged on Hank’s arm.

 

“Are you embarrassed by the cape?”

 

“Nah. I just don’t want a hundred drunken, horny lameos up my ass while I’m tryin’ t’dance.”

 

Sirena led the way. It was like having three little ducklings bobbing after her as she navigated the maze of Brooklyn. Three blocks into their trek, every head turned as a man in spandex swung by and dropped into an alleyway.

 

“Oop! Someone’s getting mugged or something,” Hank said. He looked to Sirena. “You wanna check it out?”

 

“Not even a little. We’re gettin’ food. I ain’t taking the Big Dumb Spider along.”

 

“I don’t, um, have much cash? I could maybe pay for me and you—“

 

“You don’t have to buy them nothin’.” Sirena looked back at Barda and Katie.

 

“I was mostly planning on guys buying me drinks.” Barda shrugged.

 

Katie beamed and said sweetly, “I can cover you. I mugged someone on the way here!”

 

Sirena stared at Katie in disbelief. Shy Katie Evans? The girl who spoke so little that all the mean girls had just called her Mouse?

 

“I’m kidding,” she said, still grinning.

 

She clearly wasn’t, but Sirena let it go as Hank and Barda laughed.

 

“Whew, _girl_.” Sirena shook her head and tugged on Hank to get going. “You changed after high school.”

 

“You know what they say,” Katie said. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stranger.”

 

Sirena frowned and pulled Hank closer to her. In a few minutes, they were sitting in a little shop, a variety of seafood tacos and margaritas around them. She sat on one side with Hank, curling into his side as he wowed the girls with his dozens of wild and probably at least half-true stories.

 

He told them well. He was like that. He didn’t need a group circle or anything to make it okay to talk about his life. Hank looked at it all as one never-ending adventure. Bad things happened, but they would win, because they were the Good Guys. Bad Guys had tried to hurt them, but that was okay, because his dad, a Good Guy, had made sure they couldn’t.

 

Not permanently, anyway.

 

She saw Dean’s side of it. She understood why he reacted the way he had, at least a little of it. She never liked the idea of her dad doing things without seeing fit to tell her about it. Chester Ong kept a lot of secrets. But in the end, Sirena was happy that Hank was alive. She was happy that someone so good and sweet wanted time with her.

 

It was just scary, when someone fixated on her. When someone wasn’t good at hearing no.

 

Sirena rested her head on Hank’s shoulder, letting her head spin from the tequila (thanks to her fake ID). The music eeked out of a jPod on the counter, lazily drifting over to them in a gentle accompaniment to their chattering.

 

“Beautiful stranger,” Sirena sang along softly. “Why do you walk with your head hung low? Beautiful girl?”

 

Hank turned and looked on her, no doubt making one of his goofy little smiles.

 

“Your eyes are mockingbirds inside a gilded cage,” she sang, letting her voice drop into a low and rich alto. “Your life’s a silent movie that I haven’t even heard for ages. Tell me everything. Someone’s gotta hear this beautiful thing.”

 

Hank kissed Sirena’s forehead. “I didn’t know you could sing!”

 

“Pity when you talk you sound like a 70 year old chain smoker,” Barda said. “There’s still a little screech in your singing voice, too.”

 

“Her voice is great!” Hank argued. “Both the singing voice and the chain-smokey voice. Hey!”

 

His face lit up like someone had just turned on his floodlights. “We could start a band! I was in a band, y’know!”

 

“I can play the piano,” Katie offered.

 

“I know, babe,” Sirena said to Hank, patting his hand as she shot Katie a death glare. “Y’told me. I’m not a big joiner, though. You and me could play together sometime, if you wanted.”

 

Hank nuzzled his cheek against hers, and she reciprocated. Maybe there was some way she could get him up to her room tonight.  He’d probably get too excited to do much in a straightforward way, but she’d been a very patient girl. Maybe it was time to teach him to use that goofy mouth of his in a more productive way.

 

Within moments, her brain was hatching a plan. She planted a kiss on his lips, awakening her skin to the texture and color of his mouth. Hank responded immediately. Dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin… adrenaline. She rose from their seats, leading him by the hand with a smile.

 

A goodbye to the girls, then back into the night. She could get home early, snow Daddy with some little breadcrumbs of daughterly affection, and slip Hank in later in between the perimeter check.

 

Hank was as free as she was caged. He’d never be missed for the night. And Sirena would control her own damn clock if it fucking killed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of Sirena's extended senses as based on Dr. Dugong's beloved gentle cuttlefish, which have sensors in their skin that allow them to pick up on colors and textures that they can't even see. Thus, have a "rich perceptual experience" all over their bodies. I just stretched the concept for our Aqua Girl beyond just having gills.


	4. Stork in a Leotard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean practices with Jared for his modern dance class, then gets some advice from Dr. Von Helping.
> 
> Jared starts to plan an upcoming mission with Daphne.

At first, Jared had been grateful that Dean seemed to be a night owl, like him. After a few days, though, it became apparent that Dean just didn’t sleep much. Anxiety. Or nightmares. Or maybe nanobots. Jared hadn’t asked yet.

 

“Praising the Sun God Ra!”

 

Jared peered out of his window to see Dean on the lawn, in a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants, holding his arms up in what was probably a pose from his dance class. Arms and chest spread wide, hands uplifted.

 

“Bow to Satan!”

 

Dean’s back contracted as he arched over toward the ground. His left arm reached back, then around, then another bow, before reaching over his head.

 

Dean had been pretty surprise to find out that “Modern Dance” didn’t have anything to do with regular dance steps. Ballet, but with rolling around on the floor, he had called it after his first day.

 

Jared rubbed his eyes and pulled on a sweatshirt. Dean’s utter imperviousness to nudity aside, Jared had chosen to wear at least pajama bottoms to bed every night. Dean almost always kept clothed. Even last night, he slept with a shirt on, in spite of…

 

Although he could’ve jumped down to the courtyard, Jared took the stairs and walked out just as Dean leaned over to his right side again. His right arm reached over his head, and his body tensed, only making the movement halfway.

 

_“Dean!”_

_Jared hadn’t seen them. He hadn’t realized they’d had guns. It just wasn’t something Jared expected from the kids in this neighborhood, but, of course, it wasn’t the kids he had to worry about._

_They’d heard the scream. Sharp and bright in the cold night air, and Dean had tugged the ski mask over his face and pulled up his hood. Jared had swung ahead, and Dean ran after him, and in moments, they were by the side of a girl being dragged into a house against her will. A huge, filthy hand clamped over her mouth, and Jared webbed two of them straight away._

_Dean came running up after. And of course, Jared was too far away, just swinging in, for anyone to aim at._

_  
Dean came barreling toward them. And the gun fired. And Dean dodged. Just a jerk and a jump as the bullet sunk deep into the fabric of his hoodie._

 

“Careful.” Jared touched Dean’s arm lightly, and he smiled as he turned to see Jared behind him.

 

“Pretty sure I can’t hurt myself much flailing around like this.”

 

“You can if you’re already injured. I can’t believe you’re up already.”

 

Dean put his arms down. “I have class in an hour anyway.”

 

“Class?” Jared sighed. “When I got nicked for the first time, I didn’t rush back to class. Let alone a dance class.”

 

“Not the worst I’ve had.” Dean shrugged. His thoughts seemed far away.

 

Did he mean he’d _died_ from a gunshot before? Yikes.

 

“Then, I’m proud, but I’d still prefer it if you could go a bit easier on yourself.” Jared stepped closer.

 

“It doesn’t hurt much. Not anymore.”

 

_Jared peeled Dean’s shirt up over his head, the fabric sticking to the side with caked blood. It had clotted. That was good. Jared thought his heart might just beat right out of his chest._

_“Not fun being the one to do this, huh?” Dean joked. Still, he didn’t look at the injury himself._

_His breath drew in sharply as Jared rinsed it carefully with some water he’d brought in from the bathroom down the hall. He could use more to work with, but he realized as he cleared the blood away that Dean’s wound had begun to heal. The skin was purpling and drawing together. Just like the cut hand around Christmas, with the bullet gone, his body was piecing itself back together. There would be no need for any impromptu stitches._

_But something deep inside Jared panged at the sight of it anyway._

 

“It isn’t gone, though, is it?”

 

“No. I might need a few days.” Dean drew in a deep breath and started stretching his arm back again, overhead, then forward. He pulled his arm close to his chest and contracted in on himself. It was almost a violent gesture, but at the same time, graceful.

 

Jared didn’t associate Dean with grace, much. Not that it mattered as long as he could dodge most of the bullets.

 

After a beat, Jared mimicked the moves Dean was trying to make. A growing young man, long of limb and mostly angles, Dean was unbalanced. Wobbling with his feet in the wrong position and his shoulders slumped from the weight of different pains. Jared touched him gently, on the curve of his back, on the hips. He met Dean’s eyes briefly, and Dean mimicked the turn of his heels and the sweep of his arm.

 

A few students passing by laughed at the dancing in front of the dorms, but Dean didn’t even seem to hear them at all. He was entirely, fully present in his body, probably for the first time that Jared had ever seen. Even during that first night on the balcony, Dean hadn’t looked comfortable in his skin.

 

Today, even though he couldn’t keep his body perfectly in position, and he swayed to the side every so often, it was like the movements themselves were rooting him in deep to this wayward body.

 

“Did you take this class?” Dean asked after about ten minutes.

 

“I did. I’ve taken a lot of dance classes. I wondered why you were interested in this one, in particular.”

 

“I needed a P.E. credit, and I didn’t want to accidently rip anyone’s arms off.”

 

“Dark,” Jared accused.

 

Dean raised his arms to the sky again. “Praise the Sun God Ra!”

 

“That is _not_ what that’s called.”

 

“No, but helps me remember what to do.” Dean closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he praised the Sun God, or, whatever. “High release.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“There are only three guys in this class. It’s so funny. Andy took it with his girlfriend, and they both thought they’d be learning to dance with each other.” Dean grinned and looked to Jared.

 

“Indeed, they might. But not the way they expected.”

 

The two of them moved together, sweeping an arm around, circling it over the heads, and then curving forward.

 

“Did you get Botts or Crane?”

 

“Crane.”

 

“Ah. She’s the hard one. She’s more Contemporary than Modern, really, but she’ll give you a good workout in the basics. But she won’t make you dress like a flower or a birdie for the final.”

 

“Hard pass on the birdie costumes.” Dean rolled his shoulders back. “I just picked what was open, though. I changed my schedule like four times this semester.”

 

“I know. I was expecting to see you in philosophy every day.”

 

“I just can’t waste my time with Tomkins teaching it.”

 

“I know. I ended up dropping, too. I can’t stand him. Here, hold on.”

 

Jared put his hands on Dean’s hips, moving them forward, then trailed his fingers along Dean’s spine, and finally rested his hand on his shoulders. “When you’re not doing deep contraction movements, keep your hips and shoulders in alignment.”

 

“Good posture doesn’t exactly run in my family.”

 

“I’d noticed. But there’s no reason you have to shrink yourself.”

 

“I guess not.” Dean lifted a hand and moved it down his chest and stomach as he breathed. “This is hard.”

 

“I don’t think you’re doing too badly. But you still have time to drop.”

 

“I probably won’t. It’s useful, kind of, to have a few hours out of the week when I’m not in my head.”

 

Jared’s hands brushed down Dean’s back, lightly feeling the slight raise of his muscles. Dean shivered, but remained in position. Laying his palm to Dean’s back, Jared felt the heart pounding there. In excitement? Panic?

 

“Dean, we need to talk.”

 

“About dance?”

 

“Hm.”

 

Dean relaxed and turned to look at Jared. “I don’t get to come on patrol anymore, do I?”

 

“What?” Jared sighed. “No. I mean, maybe we’ve been a bit careless. If you come out with me again… I’d like for you to have some protection.”

 

“Instant healing isn’t enough?” Dean said quietly.

 

“It’s not _instant_ ,” Jared said, pitching his voice low as well. “I just can’t think of what would happen if a bullet hit an artery. How much can you take? I’m not eager to find out, honestly.”

 

“Maybe,” Dean hesitated. “Maybe we _should_ take a break.”

 

Jared pressed his lips into a line. He couldn’t say he wanted that. He also didn’t want to be carrying Dean’s lifeless body in his arms because he’d taken a half-trained kid out on the streets. Dean had done fine after being hit. He’d gotten up and scared the shit out of the man that had shot him, knocking him to the ground and breaking the gun with his bare hands.

 

But he’d still been bleeding, heavily. Jared had dropped the girl back at her mother’s house and called the police to pick up her stepdad for attempted kidnapping. Then, he’d returned to find Dean out cold, collapsed against a wall. Repairing himself took a lot out of him. On top of the blood loss.

 

Jared’s long silence seemed to have answered for him. Dean looked resigned, if a little hurt.

 

“Look,” Jared started.

 

“No, I get it. I rushed into this. It’s as big a commitment as anything in our weird world. If anyone catches me, I’ll have an arch and the OSI down my throat before breakfast is over.” Dean stretched both hands over his shoulders. “I just need to think a little more.”

 

“I’m here if you need anyone to practice dance with,” Jared offered, as Dean headed for the entrance.

 

“That I can give an unequivocal yes to.” Dean grinned back at him. “I’m not getting a bad grade just because I have all the coordination of a baby giraffe.”

 

“Is that why you like those giraffes?” Jared called.

 

“Our kinship is deep, and it’s real!”

 

Jared watched Dean go fondly. The conversation that they needed to have ought to be longer than that, but it was a hard one to have, and Dean wasn’t steady enough in his direction to have it.

 

.* * *

 

“Oh, goodness!”

 

Dean hadn’t expected Dr. Von Helping to jump back like that upon seeing a bullet wound. A man who could shed his skin (literally) and wore a metal suit of armor (again literally) seemed like he might be a little more acclimated to flesh wounds, but apparently not.

 

“It’s okay. It’s a lot better than it was last night.” Dean patted the gauze back into place and pulled his sweater down.

 

Dr. Von Helping’s hand had flown over his heart and remained there as he looked down on Dean with an odd expression.

 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. You just said before that we could use more data, and I thought—“

 

“No, no. This would be a good opportunity for me to take some additional readings. I can’t say I’m thrilled about how we’re getting them, however.” Dr. Von Helping managed to unclutch his pearls long enough to go fetch his laptop and a pair of gloves. “Do you often find yourself in front of bullets?”

 

Dean didn’t quite know how to answer that one. “Not... _lately_. But last night was a surprise.”

 

“A surprise,” Von Helping echoed.

 

He began typing and fired off a series of blunt questions that avoided the actual how of the wound. Dean answered each as honestly as he could, but could feel the tension growing in the room. Should he be telling Von Helping all of this? He could easily turn around and tell his father.

 

“And this morning…” Von Helping sighed. “Could I get another look?”

 

“Sure.” Dean lifted his shirt again and let Von Helping peer under the bandage.

 

His eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. “I might help to get, um—“

 

“A blood sample from the wound? I thought so.”

 

Von Helping remained distinctly uncomfortable as he gathered his supplies and took a few samples. He redressed the wound himself, with something that stung a bit, and reapplied the gauze with a hand just as tender as Jared’s had been.

 

“You know, I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse that you have some experience in lab work like this,” Von Helping said after a moment of studying the samples under his microscope. He wrote neat little notes on the pad beside him as he worked.

 

“I don’t, really. My dad had me watch him. Or, more like, he’d have me come be an extra set of hands, but it’s not like I did much more than that.”

 

“That’s interning, without the running and fetching of coffee. You shouldn’t downplay it so much.” Von Helping sat up straight and rolled back on his stool, then beckoned Dean forward. “Come look. It’s yours, after all.”

 

Dean felt his jaw clenching at the thought of looking at his own samples. But he’d done it before. This might be something he had to resign himself to, if he wanted to get used to all of this. He rolled up to the microscope and peered into it. All the little red circles. With little shimmery octagons milling around in between, bumping into the edge off the petri dish, confused. Displaced. But very active.

 

“They’re not always like that,” Dean muttered.

 

“Have you been tired?”

 

Dean supposed passing out in an alley counted. “Yeah. And a little shaky.”

 

“They’re working hard. And they use your energy to survive and carry out their tasks, so if they’re at work, you are. You may need to get more sleep than you do.”

 

“Sometimes…” Dean licked his lips slowly. “If I lift or bend something too heavy, or I get hurt, I just… get really tired. And then hungry. I can fight it off for a minute, but not for long.”

 

“You’re going to need a kind of balance, if you intend to use these abilities regularly. Or at least a way to learn your limits and conserve your energy.” Von Helping raised his chin and frowned. “And someone to watch your back, if you intend to keep going out at night to help people. Who may or may not be threatened by people with guns.”

 

Dean’s brows shot up.

 

“You’re not the first student I’ve had who came in here with a gunshot wound.” Von Helping turned to enter the data into his laptop. “Though, I can’t say it gets any easier.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said without thinking.

 

“Why are you sorry?” Von Helping lifted his head. “I go on and on about using science to help people, that we can break out of the cycle of insanity that the Guild has created and help people. Should I be shocked that some of my students can’t wait to finish their degrees to _start_ helping?”

 

He shook his head. “I’m grateful you heal so quickly.”

 

Dean pinched his lips to the side. If he had a choice, he wished he could give that ability to Hank. He was the one who wanted to be Batman.

 

“I do have someone to watch my back,” Dean admitted. “But we agreed today that I should give it a rest. Until I’m ready.”

 

“Given what you’ve told me, especially the training they downloaded into you, I feel like you probably won’t need much more time. Do you have a costume?”

 

“No. I’ve been using a ski mask and an extra sweater over my hoodie.”

 

Von Helping suppressed a smile.

 

“What?” Dean fought a grin himself.

 

“Really?” With a shake of his head, he rose and walked to the other side of the lab. He opened a metal cabinet and pulled out a few long, one piece bodysuits. “At the very least, wear something _bulletproof_.”

 

Dean approached his professor, and the suits, with trepidation. Putting on a suit, and a mask, there was something definitive in that. Putting on a suit meant owning that he planned to keep doing this. Beyond the rush of helping a girl kidnapped by her own stepdad, or pulling a kid out of the line of fire. It was a deliberate step.

 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” Dean admitted.

 

Von Helping gave him a skeptical look. “You’re ready to take a bullet, but not ready to put on the protection?”

 

“What if someone found out?”

 

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re more likely to be caught without a cowl that attaches to your suit.” Von Helping laid the suits down on the table. “I’ve been tinkering with these. I can show you how they work. But the decision to put one on is always yours.”

 

Dean ran his fingers over the fabric of one suit, then the other. He’d never wanted this. Solving mysteries, protecting his family, sure. But becoming a vigilante… That would mean drawing all kinds of attention.

 

“Did you ever?” Dean asked.

 

“No. My temper… It’s a hindrance. I would hurt more people than I helped.” Von Helping gestured broadly around his lab. “This is my domain. It could be yours, too. But if this is something you can see for yourself, it’s definitely also an option."

 

Dean touched the cowl of a red and gray suit. It looked tight in the upper body and legs, like any supersuit, but the fabric was deceptively tough.

 

Before he could say anything, Von Helping said, “That one is resistant to fire damage, bulletproof, and comes with special, flexible lenses over the eyes. I haven’t sewn them in yet. If you wanted to be able to see better in the dark, look for security lasers, and the like.”

 

“Huh.”

 

Some time had probably passed since Dean had begun examining the suit. When he looked up, Sirena had just walked into the lab. Their eyes met with a mutual panic and defensiveness.

 

“Hey, the door was open,” Sirena said a bit testily.

 

“That’s fine, Sirena. I was just showing Dean a few of my pet projects. We can talk, if you’d like? Dean, my lab notes are available on the laptop, if you want to look at them. The ones for the suits are under the ‘begonia’ folder, although admittedly each suit is less creatively named, and goes by the color.”

 

“Thanks.” Dean offered Sirena half-smile. She held onto her bag like it was a life-preserver.

 

You probably didn’t come to Dr. Von Helping’s lab if you didn’t have _some_ secrets. Dean couldn’t pretend he knew all of hers just because he’d gone to all of two group therapy sessions with her there.

 

While Dr. Von Helping went off with Sirena, Dean settled into the laptop, skimming over each file on every suit and each of the accessories as quickly as he could. Sometimes he forgot that his processing speed had been bizarrely altered with everything else. It was like he was Sleeping Beauty, in a way.

 

The White Fairy blessed him with improved strength. The Rusty Fairy had blessed him with better brains. And Brock had made him a potential murderer.

 

_Dean didn’t feel it. Not for a moment. There was the sound of the shot, the wind pushing against him as he dodged, and an impact against his ribs. He leapt to his feet, eyes on the girl being held so tightly, and he ran at the man with the gun head on. So fast that the man must’ve thought Dean was some PCP freak barreling at him._

_Before the man could fire again, Dean grabbed his wrist. Turned. Flipped. The man was on the ground and the gun was his. Dean stared down at the man, bent over and clutching a broken arm, and bent the gun’s barrel in his hands._

_But it would’ve been easy. Too easy. Just turn around. Take out the man holding the girl. Save the girl._

_It was too easy now, with this man at his feet. One motion. Flesh and bone were so fragile when the adrenaline flowed through him._

 

Dean finished the files on the suits and skimmed through his own files just as quickly. He couldn’t lie. He was nervous about taking up the cowl for a number of reasons, up to and including fears of locking himself back into his father’s life, getting so close to Jared that he would be inevitably crushed, and actually hurting people.

 

Remembering the information he’d read wasn’t a question. He wouldn’t have to read it again. He hovered the cursor over a number of flower-related folders, then closed the laptop and returned to the microscope.

 

The little nanobots were still scrambling around the edges, looking for the rest of him. He knew two things for certain: They would die outside of him. Dr. Von Helping’s tests had proven that much. They were his now. Or they _were_ him. He also knew that if he got close enough, they would find a way to return to him.

 

Why they’d been drawn to him to begin with, Dean didn’t know. He felt sorry for them, a little, which was stupid. They didn’t have brains of their own. But just like any other cell of his body, they had a function, one they had learned as they grew to be more and more part of him, as they disabled and recreated and multiplied themselves. They’d been with him for so long now that they’d adapted and become so much of him that they couldn’t adapt to anyone else. Even removing them all from him would be dicey, if Von Helping could figure a way to do it.

 

They’d die. He might die, too. There was no way to know.

 

Dean moved his fingertips closer to the petri dish. He didn’t have to look to know the nanobots had rushed through the edges of the dish. There weren’t enough of them to create their grim shimmer the way they had rushed into him that first day. But they returned.

 

To mend him. To make of him what they would.

 

He pressed his hand to his chest, remembering the feeling of Jared’s on his back as his heart had grown thunderous, with… with what? Anticipation? Fear?

 

Want?

 

Dean was an experiment in progress. He looked at his hands in wonder and imagined the paths spiraling out before him like so many unpaved roads with warnings posted so clearly. Warnings that he’d understood before he’d had the ability to comprehend what they meant or the harm they did to his ability to understand himself.

 

A trifling bullet was the least of his worries.

 

A careful hand on his shoulder startled Dean out of his thought, and suddenly he was looking up at his professor and a sardonically raised brow from Sirena. Dean dropped his hands into his lap.

 

“Are you all right? You didn’t seem to hear me,” Dr. Von Helping said gently.

 

“I was… thinking.”

 

“I think, perhaps, it would be good if you went back to your dorm and rested for the day. No botany today, so… if you can take off from your other classes…?

 

“He can,” Sirena said. “You already done the important ones, right?”

 

“Well, Intro to Drama—“

 

“I’ll email our prof, okay? C’mon, Boy Scout.” Sirena jerked her head toward the door. “My turn to walk you home.”

 

Dean looked up at Dr. Von Helping and followed Sirena out the door. As soon as they were in the elevator up to the main floor, Sirena said, “You can go to class if you want. I won’t stop you. I know it sucks when people get overprotective.”

 

“It’s not entirely his fault.”

 

“Yeah?” Sirena shrugged. “I won’t ask. If you wanted to talk, you’d’ve kept comin’ to group.”

 

“It seemed unfair to just listen.”

 

Sirena left the elevator first and started walking backwards. “Whateva keeps you goin’, right? A lotta people end up talking to Dr. V.H. He’s a nice guy.”

 

Dean ducked his head a bit and touched the back of his neck. “I wondered about you, too. But I won’t ask.”

 

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t sayin’ until I know something for sure.”

 

“Fair.” Dean breathed in the cold air as they stepped out of the building. “Sometimes knowing makes everything worse.”

 

“You talkin’ about the clone thing again?”

 

Dean hesitated before admitting, “No. It’s something else.”

 

Sirena’s brows raised, but she didn’t slow her pace.

 

* * *

 

“With all the beat cops in the area in Wale’s pocket, we’re going to have to avoid them pretty hard. They won’t be any help, but they’ll be looking to ‘not see’ this handoff, too. If I’m up on the skyscraper, I can get a lay of the land. If I see where everyone is before you come swinging in, we can bust these fools before any more SparklePony spreads through the neighborhood.”

 

Jared bobbed his head as he listened to Daphne in the midst of her logical planning. It had been some time since they really collaborated on anything, but he definitely appreciated eyes in the sky. Daphne didn’t fly much (too energy consuming), but the reality of levitation was still impressive.

 

“How are you going to let me in on what you see?” Jared asked. “It’s a little awkward to carry a cell phone when I’m suited up. Maybe Dean could figure out some communications for us.”

 

**_I’ll let you in by doing this._ **

****

Jared jumped and stumbled. The intrusive thought came into his head just as if it were one of his own. She stopped on the side of the walkway and waited for him to collect himself.

 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

 

“I don’t like to be in other people’s heads. It’s uncomfortable.” Daphne cocked her head to the side. “And impossible not to catch stray thoughts.  So Baby Boy isn’t going to be joining us?”

 

“I haven’t asked… but this is a big one. I don’t want to get him in over his head.”

 

“You don’t want him getting hurt.” Daphne reached over and touched Jared’s shoulder. “It’s very understandable that you feel that way. We could use his help, but I’m also pretty confident that between the two of us, we’ll get it handled. Not confident about what Wale will think, if he figures out that it’s you.”

 

“Ideally, that’s what you’re for.”

 

“Just keep the webs to a minimum. I can confuse the dealers, but if you leave traces, you’re going to find yourself back up in Tophet Tower.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” Jared promised. Another confrontation with Wide Wale was the last thing Jared wanted. He could rest easy, at least, knowing how good Daphne was at not being seen. He didn’t know for sure that Wale’s henchmen could capture her if they tried, but he didn’t like risking his partners.

 

As if summoned by their thoughts, Rocco appeared, just out of the corner of Jared’s eye. The man was in plain clothes, and not making a scene, but Jared could sense him. He shuddered and tried to discreetly look for what he was doing. He could’ve kicked himself when he realized.

 

There was Sirena. She was sitting on the side of the fountain, reaching back to let the water sprinkle on her fingers. And beside her, Dean stood awkwardly. It looked like they were talking about something. She had that patented look of feigned boredom, although she was clearly listening to whatever he was talking about.

 

“Wish you had superhearing in your wheelhouse of powers, hm?” Daphne said.

 

“Sirena’s bodyguard is here,” Jared said. He inclined his head in Rocco’s direction.

 

“You think they’re onto us?”

 

“No, I think Rocco is doing a better job than usual of stalking her around. They normally leave her alone on campus, but…” Jared’s eyes tracked Rocco as he moved around the circle at a casual pace. Watching her without getting too close.

 

Sirena being that close to Dean could be dangerous with Rocco around. It wouldn’t matter that they weren’t dating or that Dean was a Venture. Jared’s chest burned with anxiety. On a good day, Dean could probably extricate himself from a fight with Rocco, if the man wasn’t packing. But his injury made that less likely. Walking up to Sirena would be a death sentence for Jared. Maybe—

 

Daphne glided past Jared and in moments was standing next to the young pair at the fountain. Jared, in spite of all of his instincts, took a step back to see what happened. Sirena lit up upon seeing Daphne, and Dean smiled as well. The three settled into conversation, and after a few minutes, they started walking away from the fountain.

 

Subtly, Jared saw a shadow of the three of them still by the fountain. And Rocco kept his position stalking the illusion Daphne had left for him.

 

Letting out a slow breath, Jared doubled back around the library to meet up with them. He caught up just as they were approaching the dorms, and he could tell immediately that Sirena hadn’t realized Rocco was there at all. Her demeanor was too relaxed. She was smile too wide at Daphne.

 

Seeing Jared would probably ruin her day. He retreated to the dorm and sent Daphne a message that they could finish their planning tomorrow.

 

Dean seemed in good spirits when he returned to their room. Jared acknowledged him with a nod and kept his eyes on the sketch of the neighborhood where the drop-off was going to go down.

 

“I saw Daphne,” Dean said.

 

“Yeah, I saw her, too.”

 

“Is everything okay?” Dean sat at his own desk and started unloading his bag.

 

“’S fine.” Jared sighed, looking at the map. It was going to be pretty tight between those buildings.

 

Dean swiveled around and stared at Jared. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn.

 

“Praise the Sun God Ra!”

 

Jared looked up and laughed. “Do you do that in class?”

 

“No!” Dean chuckled. “Well, not loudly. Are you mad? Did I do something?”

 

“Of course not.” Jared pushed his hair back. “It’s just… Seeing Sirena sometimes…”

 

“Oh. You saw us down there.”

 

“I was with Daphne when you guys were at the fountain.”

 

“She was just walking me back to my dorm.” Dean shrugged. “As a thank you for me walking her to her car? I guess she wants to feel like she doesn’t owe me anything.”

 

“That makes sense. For her.” Jared rested his hands on his knees. “Look, I don’t expect you to avoid her for my sake. I’m sorry if I make things weird.”

 

“Given what might happen if you and she were seen together, I understand.” Dean came over and sat on Jared’s bed.

 

“Full disclosure: Daphne and I are planning a mission,” Jared said. “And you’re not coming. I know we haven’t talked in depth about where you stand on that, but it’s too soon.  You were shot a day ago.”

 

“No, I get it. I’m still thinking things over. But, is it a difficult mission? Will the two of you be enough? I don’t remember patrol ever earning the title of ‘mission.’”

 

“I hope the two of us will be enough.” Jared’s skin prickled from Dean’s nearness. “I want you with us. I _do_. But I want you to be okay more.”

 

Dean frowned. He rested his hand on Jared’s. “I’m gonna be fine. It looks a lot better already.”

 

“You know, when I’d go out patrolling last semester, and I came back all banged up… I never really thought about what it felt like to be the one seeing that. I mean, I remember being the one to tell you I was fine, that I would heal, and I’ve had significant others who dealt with it, but this side of it is… I don’t even heal as fast as you.”

 

Dean clicked his tongue. “I don’t _love_ seeing you covered in bruises.”

 

“This is a tough gig. Every day, there are new layers to how hard it is.”

 

Dean squeezed his hand and shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Why?” Jared tilted his head skeptically.

 

“I was born into this. I haven’t known anything _but_ how hard it is. You had _a life_ before.”

 

“I think I would’ve gotten into it one way or another, if I’m honest. I was planning on doing everything I could as a bio-engineer. If I ever got good, that would draw out an arch sooner or later.”

 

Dean slumped over onto his knees. “That sucks. It sucks that you can’t do anything good in this world without someone stopping you.”

 

“Yep. But I don’t have too much trouble with arches as Brown Widow. I’m not a high enough level for Wide Wale or Wandering Spider to officially come after me, and the one or two who did arch me treated it more like a hobby.”

 

“ _Right_? Why don’t they get a real hobby?” Dean shot to his feet and paced about irritably. “Collect some stamps. Go do karaoke. Whatever.”

 

“Learn modern dance?”

 

Jared stepped up to Dean. The dorm was quite short on space, so it was a small step. Dean flushed suddenly.

 

“That’s, um, one way to get out that pent up energy.”

 

“Have you guys done any holds or lifts yet?” Jared asked.

 

“I’m just working on not falling over.”

 

“You were pretty nimble last night.”

 

“I have a lot more practice being shot at than doing tour jetés.”

 

Jared straightened and lifted onto the ball of his foot and posed.

 

“I don’t know what to say to that.” Dean tried to lift himself up as well. “Do you have perfect spider balance?”

 

Jared was about to quip back when Dean wobbled and Jared lunged forward to catch him. Dean lifted his head and laughed.

 

“I _told_ you,” Dean complained.

 

“Maybe we should do something easier.”

 

Jared helped Dean stand again and turned Dean away from him. His moved his hands down Dean’s arms slowly.

 

“Keep your feet forward.”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Hips, shoulders, that’s right. Okay. Keep your foot flat—that’s a modern dance precept—and lift your left leg back.”

 

Dean shook a little as he followed Jared’s instructions. Jared kept one hand on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Now reach out with your right arm, palm up. Yes, and left arm back, palm down. You’re creating a sense of balance. One side of the body to the other.”

 

“Like this?”

 

“Just extend your limbs, there.” Jared smiled and moved his hand over Dean’s arm as he moved into the same pose. “You’re perfect.”

 

Dean let out a breathy laugh.  “It’s easier with you behind me.”

 

“I won’t let you fall,” Jared promised.


	5. Words We Don't Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has two conversations with his father, one very strange, and both very enlightening.

It was strange to see his dad standing up straight. Hank could only think of a few times he’d seen him do that, and it probably meant that he was about to unveil some brilliant, if completely impractical, scientific invention. Or he was about to jump off the balcony.

 

“Whatcha doin’, Pop?” Hank approached quickly from behind.

 

“Oh, hello,” Rusty said cheerfully.

 

Hank hung a half-grin. “Wow. You’re upbeat today.”

 

Rusty shrugged and turned back to the balcony. “It’s a nice day. Things going my way. For once.”

 

That sounded more like Dad. Hank stepped up to the balcony and noticed Brock’s binoculars in Rusty’s left hand.

 

“Are you spying on my girlfriend?” Hank asked.

 

“What? Of course not. I’m not interested in some—She’s your girlfriend, Hank.” Rusty lifted the binoculars and fixed them on Tophet Tower. “Sirena’s bedroom isn’t facing our building anyway. There—“ He pointed. “Is the pool area, which you probably know. And there—“ He pointed again slightly above. “Is the room where Wide Wale holds a lot of his meetings. We can see from here who’s dropping in on him.”

 

“Neat. You gonna set up a camera? Get a beat on who might decide to attack us next?” Hank paused. “They haven’t really bothered us much since that whole Morpho/Grandpop’s head thing. You’d think after they knew the Blue Morpho wasn’t gonna kill them, they’d come outta the woodwork.”

 

“Fucking cowards. If they don’t have Wide Wale and The Council’s permission, they won’t do anything at all.”

 

Hank chuckled and leaned against the railing. It was rare for his dad to just confide his frustrations to Hank. Dad talked to Dean way more, even if it was stuff he told Dean when he was drunk that Dean didn’t want to know. That was back when Dean lived with them, though.

 

Hank sort of missed coming back from a date with Sirena and popping into Dean’s room. He’d always be in there trying to study, and Hank would plop onto the bed and just start talking until Dean turned around and gave him attention.

 

“Maybe we should let Brock in on this,” Hank suggested.

 

“No,” Rusty said quickly.

 

“Huh. Well, I guess he’d know about that already.” Hank toed the ground.

 

“Sorry, buddy. I’m just very focused right now.” Rusty let the binoculars drop and put a hand on Hank’s shoulder.

 

Hank blinked, not sure of what to make of that. Dean got the soft pet names. Hank had always been just… Hank. Well, not _always_. He remembered when he and Dean were really little, and Dad was around the compound more, he was there, putting the two of them to bed, playing with them sometimes.

 

He’d called Hank “buddy” sometimes back then. Dean had been and still was “sweetheart” and “sweetie.”

 

“It’s okay. I’m sure it’s important.” Hank reached for the binoculars. “Can I see?”

 

“Not now.” Rusty looked at Hank, a strange expression crossing his face, and he bit his lower lip. “How are you doing? You and that _girlfriend_ of yours. You were out pretty late the other night.”

 

“What night?” Hank shrugged. “We’re fine. Okay. I dunno. I feel like I’m pestering her most of the time.”

 

Rusty clicked his tongue. “Any girl who doesn’t appreciate your company probably doesn’t deserve you.”

 

“Thanks.” Hank let that feeling settle on his shoulders. _Support_. Would Dad even say something like that to Dean? He was always so _weird_ when he talked to them about women. “But I don’t think she doesn’t deserve me. It’s just… hard. It’s getting so _hard_. And I dunno why, I guess. Maybe, because I’ve never seen anyone be in a relationship for that long, you know? Other than you and Brock.”

 

Rusty chuckled.

 

“Or, I guess, The Monarch and his Mrs.”

 

Rusty’s face went blank. “Hm.”

 

“Relationship goals,” Hank mused. “Whaddaya think’s wrong with her, if she stayed with this guy for so long? He’s so freakin’ messed up. And he’s not getting better because he’s, like, obsessed with you.”

 

“Who knows what that crazy bitch thinks? And who cares? As far as we’re concerned, she’s just another enemy.”

 

“Really? I always thought you were kinda sweet on her.”

 

Rusty twisted his lips in disgust. “She’s just as big an asshole as her husband. She just covers everything up with…” He faltered for words. “Rules. And lies. And bullshit. She’s a _cunt_.”

 

Hank’s brows shot up. His dad had rarely shied away from bad language since he and Dean had turned sixteen, but he’d _never_ heard him break out the C-word.

 

“Wow! This is the real tea, huh?” Hank grinned.

 

“We’re sippin’ some true shit, here,” Rusty said. He turned back to the Tophet building and looked again. “I thought she might have a meeting with Wale today. But I can’t seem to spot them.”

 

“Maybe we could bug the place. It might be faster. Though, I dunno if it’s strictly legal, according to the treaties, bugging an arch just to get at someone else—“

 

“Fuck the treaty. Bugging would be a good idea.”

 

Hank side-eyed his father. It was weird to hear him say “fuck the treaty” when he’d just gone and helped the Guild and the OSI write the new version.

 

“This is between us, though, got it, bud?”

 

Hank nodded. “Yeah. Oh course.” He pursed his lips. “ _Are_ you gonna tell Brock, though?”

 

“Not now. It would… complicate things. You don’t think he tells _us_ everything, do you?”

 

“I guess not. I still have no idea what was happening that time right before he left.”

 

“Exactly. Sometimes, families have to keep secrets from each other. Because they love each other, and want to take care of each other.”

 

Hank cast his eyes down. Maybe that was true. Weird of Dad to use the L-word, too. Hank decided to break out the _other_ C-word.

 

“Is that why you never talk to me and Dean about being clones?”

 

Rusty blinked. “I-uh…”

 

“I always thought, I guess, maybe you and Dean had the same reasons. When he found out, it was kinda like he _died_ , but then kept walking around in his old skin trying to figure out why he was still here. And he didn’t tell _me_ , because… I dunno. Maybe he was trying to protect me from feeling as bad as he did.” Hank hooked his thumbs in his jeans. “I feel bad sometimes that I never felt _as bad_ as he did about it. But I thought, knowing, maybe, that could make us feel awful, or at least not _real_ , you didn’t say anything.”

 

Rusty remained quiet for a moment. His head leaned to the side slowly, and he tugged on his left ear. “Part of being a parent means having to decide things for your children. I dunno if it’s ideal. I mean, someone has to decide you need to eat your vegetables, and take you to the dentist. They end up lying to you a lot. Most parents tell stories about Santa Claus and sugarcoat a _pet_ dying. It’s not because parents don’t respect you, I think, but because the world can be so much to take in and understand. When you’re small, you can only get bits of it at a time. It takes a lot to raise up a tiny human.”

 

“I guess, dropping the bomb that you and your brother died like fifteen times is a lot bigger than a pet dying.” Hank shrugged. “But Grandpop never hid stuff from you. And I know he never took you to a real doctor or even a dentist.”

 

“Yep. He was an asshole. And someday, _you’re_ gonna have kids.” Rusty stretched his neck from side to side. “And you’re gonna raise ‘em up, and you’re gonna be sitting there with your beautiful wife, with an amazing job, and thinking, I’m gonna do this so much better than my dad did. And I hope you’ll be right.”

 

Hank stared at his father for a minute. He didn’t know what to make of that. Not that his dad probably wasn’t _right_ , but he couldn’t recall him ever talking about Hank’s future so _positively_ , or reflecting on his own parenting at all, other than to complain that Hank and Dean were driving him to drink.

  
“Are you drunk? It’s, like, ten in the morning.”

 

Rusty’s eyes widened. “I’m not drunk. You can smell my breath, if you want.”

 

“I’ll pass on that.” Hank leaned on the railing and watched the cars moving around below. “You really think I’m gonna have an amazing job?”

 

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re an amazing person.”

 

“You once said I should watch the delivery driver closely, because that was gonna be _my_ job.”

 

Rusty screwed his brows together. “Maybe I was drunk then.”

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

Rusty shrugged. “I can be an asshole, too. You just need the time to figure out what you want to do. Try some things and just dive into them.”

 

“I know what I wanna do. I wanna be OSI, like Brock. But you guys won’t let me.”

 

Rusty leaned forward, his eyes bugging out. “Are you _serious_? You want to _murder people_ for a living?”

 

“That’s not _all_ Brock does!”

 

“ _No_. OSI operatives _also_ cover up murders. And they sneak around and steal information. Sabotage the shit protags are doing. Do everything in their power to _keep_ power. They’re government dickbags. Men in black with a license to _take lives_ in the most brutal way possible. They’re a pretty big outfit. Don’t base the whole profession on the one decent guy you know.”

 

Hank crossed his arms and shook his head. “Dad, are you and Brock fighting?”

 

“I’m just… being a parent. I wanna protect you. You’re more than a government suit, Hank.”

 

“Brock always tells me not to join, too. But he’s still with them. I don’t get it.”

 

“I can’t tell you what he’s thinking.”

 

“Yeah. He can be a brick wall sometimes.” Hank smiled, tentatively. “Thank for telling me, though, what you think about all this stuff. I don’t think I ever really got why you guys were against it so much.”

 

“We’re a family of guys. Maybe we’re not so good at talking about things.”

 

Rusty put his hand on Hank’s shoulder and squeezed. It was so strange and so unexpected that Hank’s eyes began to sting with tears.

 

The sound of something slamming inside the penthouse attracted his attention, and Hank looked away. Who would be home? Brock? Dean wouldn’t be here in the middle of the week.

 

Rusty’s eyes were fixed on the windows inside, too. He stepped away from Hank and then suddenly smiled. “Why don’t you order us some lunch? We can talk about what you’re going to do with your amazing life.”

 

“As long as this isn’t another lecture about going to college.”

 

“I promise, it won’t be.”

 

Hank nodded and headed inside. That had to have been one of the top five strangest conversations he’d ever had with his father, and that included ones in which his dad regaled him with horror stories of being tormented by the old Team Venture, or being kidnapped before the protective regulations that Hank and Dean enjoyed were put into place.

 

Hank had put in the order and was sitting on the kitchen counter sipping a soda when he spotted Rusty fussing about in the hallway on the phone.

 

“No, no, that isn’t—Billy, you have to trust me on this one… Because I’m your boss, and I know what I’m talking about. Just _do_ it.”

 

The weight of whatever he was on about had put the curve back in his shoulders. Weighted him down. He waved a hand in the air as he argued with Dr. Whalen about whatever they were working on, and then he sat down heavily on the sofa and took his glasses off.

 

Hank hopped off the counter and went into the weird open-area/seating near the bar. Rusty was pinching the bridge of his nose. A sigh left his body that sounded kind of like a spirit had been trapped there for roughly forty years and finally escaped.

 

“I ordered from that Japanese place you like,” Hank said, hoping to bring back some of his good mood. “I put in for them to deliver it in an hour or so, so maybe they’ll manage to get it around lunchtime. Not that you can be for sure with traffic in this city.”

 

“What?”

 

Rusty looked up. Hank realized why his father had looked so different outside before. His face seemed fundamentally different without that perpetual scowl etched into it.

 

“Um. Lunch? I ordered it.”

 

“I don’t have _time_ for lunch, Hank. If we don’t get this project off the ground, it’s going to be another big bust from Conjectural Technologies.” Rusty glanced at his phone disdainfully. Messages were popping up one after the other. With each one, tension grew in his shoulders. Ping ping ping ping.

 

“What- Um. Out on the balcony, you said…”

 

“What on the balcony? What are you talking about?”

 

Hank’s brows raised. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

Rusty stood again and headed for the door. “I’ll be down in the lab.”

 

Hank watched him go, saying nothing, feeling his own shoulders being pushed down down, silence suffocating and overwhelming him. Whatever window that had opened in his father that morning had closed. Hank hoped it hadn’t been nailed shut.

 

He strolled back out onto the balcony. Brock’s binoculars were sitting on a patio chair. Hank swallowed as he picked them up.

 

Who _was_ that man Hank had been talking to? That guy who smiled and bit his lip and openly dragged OSI and called Hank “buddy” again and called Mrs. Monarch the C-word? Was it back to silence and denial now? They’d never talked openly about the cloning before. Hank barely talked with _Dean_ about it because it clearly upset his brother, and he’d kind of just gotten him _back_ from those long months of being swathed in black and grumbling under his breath.

 

Hank held up the binoculars and looked across the way into the penthouse of Tophet tower. Sirena would be in class, but Wide Wale was toddling about, talking with some men in pinstripe suits and some huge guy wearing a midnight-blue cloak. Slowly, Hank panned up the building. Ong’s penthouse was bigger than theirs, or Hank thought so. He had three floors, but their building didn’t have space right on the top you could just walk around on. Sometimes birds perched up on top of Tophet. There was one now.

 

But just the one. And it was… big. Like, way too huge to be a pigeon. That bird looked like it could snatch a toddler.

 

Hank blinked. Tried to refocus, and looked again. It kind of looked like an eagle, at least in the beak. Its feathers, though, were golden-brown, nearing black at the tips. Hank pulled out his phone to snap a quick picture. Maybe he could look it up online and figure out what kind it was.

 

A moment later, the bird launched itself into the air, swooped around, and then landed on the railing on Sirena’s balcony that was visible from the side off the building. It danced back and forth for a few minutes, cocking its head this way and that before flying off again, and disappearing into the skyline.

 

“Weird.”

 

It had been a super weird day all around.

 

But maybe his dad’s temporary mental breakdown wasn’t completely worthless. If he really thought that Hank could be something someday, that he’d have his own life and family… For a moment, Hank could see it for himself: He’d come home from a day of working hard at something. Something important. And his wife would love him, and she’d probably be doing important things, too. They’d have a couple of kids, and Hank would always make sure he had the time to sit and talk with them.

 

He and Dean, they were gonna do better than their dad had. For sure. They’d had so much more protection, even if Dad couldn’t give them everything. He’d given them that. Maybe Dean didn’t see it that way. Maybe he _couldn’t_. But Hank had to look at the clone thing and keeping them out of school and dragging them with him and Brock whenever they left the house as an extended form of protection.

 

Hank wanted the words. But he’d take the actions.

 

He spent the next hour scrolling through lists of local activities and classes. Everything cost money, so he poked around for potential jobs on Craigslist, too. A lot of them seemed kind of shady, but Hank just saved a bunch of pages. He had time. He had nothing but time.

 

* * *

 

When the food came, Hank took his own advice, since he had none from anyone else. He had nothing but actions. He took the food down to the lab to share with his dad and Dr. Whalen and Pete, and then hung out as the three scientists took a break and talked and laughed. It wasn’t all science geekery, either. Hank sipped on his broth and slurped ramen noodles, and wasn’t entirely bored.

 

“What’s up for you today, Hank?” Pete asked. “Free as a bird in the big city, huh? You must be gettin’ up to some crazy stuff.”

 

“Not really. I can’t get another delivery job in the area because Wide Wale scared the piss out of everyone.”

 

“Aw, that sucks,” Pete said.

 

“I’m looking into other stuff. Today I’m gonna pretend to be Dean and just research stuff. Figure out something job-wise so I can do a few things without breaking my piggybank every time.”

 

“Good,” Rusty said firmly.

 

Hank half-expected that he was talking about the tempura or something, but his dad was looking right at him.

 

“Life is failure. There’s not a day of my damn life that isn’t chock full of jackassery and nonsense.” Rusty shook his head and tapped on his paper plate with his chopsticks. “Who you are is just what you do after everything falls apart. Because it will. Over and over.”

 

He dabbed a piece of something in soy sauce. “That reminds me. Johnny’s finally in rehab again. I think it might stick this time.”

 

“Hope springs eternal, Rust.” Pete avoided Rusty’s gaze.

 

“He’s got more support,” Rusty argued. “He’s almost got thirty days, or so Z said. The center won’t let him visit yet. Phone calls are restricted, too.”

 

Hank twirled up more noodles. “Bet you thank God daily that Dean and I screw up in ways that don’t involve opioids and heroin.”

 

“You’d better fucking not.” Rusty pointed at Hank with his chopsticks.

 

“I don’t understand how your generation is so messed up,” Dr. Whalen complained. “You should’ve been having the time off your lives! It was the Wild West! No rules! Any adventure you could think of!”

 

“That’s easy for you to say. Your nemesis just steals your crap,” Hank said. “He doesn’t put you on strings and dance you around like a marionette. Or infect you with some junk that turns you into a living bomb. Or kidnap you and force you to marry him. That happened to Dean. He had nightmares about that. He _still_ has nightmares.” Hank grimaced. “ _I_ should have nightmares. Maybe there’s something wrong with me that I _don’t_.”

 

“You’re different.” Rusty shook his head. “You’re just built that way. You process stuff faster than me and Dean. You just break it down faster. Then, let it go.”

 

Hank leaned on his hand. “That sounds like the world’s lamest superpower.”

 

“Being _stable_?” Rusty snorted. “It’s probably the world’s _rarest_. Anyone else who says different is in denial.”

 

“It’s a miracle you weren’t right there with ‘em. Johnny and Sunshine Boy, I mean,” Pete said. He looked at Hank with a grin. “Your dad was like no one I’d ever met, in college. Johnny, too. Though, _he_ never hung out with us dorks. Just Rust.”

 

“Johnny’s just like that.” Rusty shook his head. “He liked you fine; he’s just got trust issues.”

 

Pete rose and patted Rusty’s back as he walked over to the computers. Rusty didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away, either.

 

“What did you want to do when you were my age?” Hank asked. “You were studying science, right?”

 

“Eh. Some. I took what my father signed me up for.”

 

“And went to class as _little_ as possible.” Pete just laughed when Rusty glared at him. “He wanted to be a musician.”

 

“Pfft!” Rusty waved Pete off. “You’re not human if you don’t like music.”

 

Listening to conversation between his dad and his friends was weird. They’d talk about a guy they knew in rehab for a second, then get into discussing the best prog rock numbers. The weirder thing was that their conversations were saner than the ones Hank had heard between Colonel Gentleman and Action Man, who talked about the old days, straight up battles and murder and mayhem, like they were talking about college shenanigans.

 

It was like some intergenerational deep capacity for denial. Hank couldn’t even say he was really separate from it, because sometimes their stories did _sound_ cool. Being a clone seemed cool. And his dad admired his ability to roll with things. Was it a Super Chill power, processing and breaking down things that were hard, or did he just reject breaking them down _at all_? How could he know?

 

“You played instruments, right, Dad?” Hank asked.

 

“Hm? Well, piano. Colonel Gentleman taught me when I was little, and I always played when I was on my own at the compound,” Rusty said.

 

“Why don’t we have a piano anymore?”

 

“Oh, I had to sell the thing. I have a keyboard. It works well enough. Or did, before that damn fire.”

 

“Did you and Brock ever jam? He plays the base.”

 

Pete snorted. “We barely saw Brock back in college.”

 

“No, I mean like, ever,” Hank said.

 

“No, not really.” Rusty wiped his hands and started collecting their plates in a pile. “I used to play for you two when you were small, sometimes. Babies like music. But the base was a little loud for you. Heh.” The soft, half-grin on Rusty’s face seemed both strange and unfamiliar. “He is a _terrible_ singer, too.”

 

“Brock _sang_ to us?”

 

“Oh yeah. One time, I was in the middle of servicing Helper—those parts weren’t meant to last forever, I had to replace some wiring—anyway, Helper was offline, and we’d just come back from a job, and I’d been- Anyway, I caught him on the security camera singing ‘Black Dog’ to you and Dean and getting you both to do the percussion by smacking on blocks.” Rusty sighed and looked at Pete. “Man, we really should’ve make those back-ups of the security videos.”

 

“We always meant to,” Pete said. “It would’ve taken forever!”

 

“Have you two weirdos ever heard of home video? They make normal cameras for that kind of thing,” Billy said.

 

Rusty waved them off and deposited the plates in the trash.

 

“We lost a lot of that stuff in the fire, didn’t we?” Hank said. “My base, a ton of clothes, videos, pictures…”

 

“Some things made it. Our lack of storage space shoved a bunch of things into the safe-room, and that made it. And Dean saved a few things up in the attic. I don’t know why so much was up in his room, but there should be an album or two in whatever he didn’t pack for college.”

 

“I didn’t see them when I packed up his room,” Hank objected. Though, he hadn’t really looked through Dean’s stuff when he’d shoved it in boxes and put it in Rocket’s old room.

 

“Hm. Maybe he took some of them with him to the dorm.”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

As the nerd squad got back to work, Hank headed back upstairs and to Dean’s room. The boxes were still messed up from the last time he’d been in here. Dean hadn’t come back for laundry even, in a long time. Hank hoped he wouldn’t have to wait for another summit to see his brother.

 

Sitting on the bed, Hank dug through box after box, seeing old clothes that Dean hadn’t worn in years now (must’ve been in the storage space) and books. But then, just as Rusty had said, piled on top of the other books, were dusty old photo albums.

 

He opened one and smiled as he looked back on pictures from Christmases and Halloweens. Apparently his family wasn’t into Easter even slightly. He paused, seeing a few old pictures of when his dad was a kid, posing with Action Man and Colonel Gentleman. He set the album aside and looked at another one. He and Dean were older in this one. Those ugly sweater vests of Dean’s started to make an appearance, and their ugly awful haircuts, and there were pictures of them playing with Scamp (R.I.P.).

 

As he turned a page, he noticed a few big blank spaces. The edges where the photographs had been were still visible on the discolored white paper. Hank tried to figure out what they had been from the surrounding pictures, but his dad wasn’t the most organized person. There were holiday pictures next to pictures from his dad’s college years. Some pictures of Hank and Dermott and Helper practicing.

 

Hank put the photo album down and pulled out his phone. After a few failed efforts, he typed:

 

_miss u, red, u busy?_

****

Then deleted it.

 

“No super processing powers here,” Hank muttered. “Just the same ol’ Venture bullshit.”

 

He went back to his room and got back to looking for jobs.


	6. Take a Sip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets a job, and Dean gets tangled up in the web of Jared and Daphne’s vigilante activities.

Coffee shops these days had ridiculous names. That was the way of the world. The way of capitalism and branding in a world of soundbites and memes. Victor stepped into Thanks a Latte, the newest pop-up café just off of campus, and took a look around at students. Some were living dead of coeds. Some lively and bustling around, halfway through their day already. Some, likely hadn’t yet been to bed.

 

After spotting a few familiar young faces, Victor pulled out his tablet to skim through a new article on advances in genetically engineer fungi while he stood in line. Patience was a virtue. Or so he was told. Victor had never considered himself a particularly patient man by nature. But he tried. Oh, how he tried.

 

“Doctor!”

 

With the cheerful, booming voice, Victor found himself filled with both warmth and regret. Jared came up to him in the line, and the tall young man with his flashing brown eyes and full lips and bright smile opened his arms for his former professor.

 

How could Victor refuse him? Such generosity and forgiveness. Victor was sure he didn’t deserve it, but he accepted Jared’s embrace and patted him on the back.

 

“It’s good to see you, Jared. How are things going for you? How are your aunts?”

 

“Really well. Their shop has been picking up business in the last few months. As the big bookstores fall, so the small ones rise. I get over there about once a week.”

 

“And your new major?”

 

“Not bad. Nothing really panning out yet, as far as acting gigs, but I keep up hope.”

 

Victor chuckled. “It you must act, you must. What’s life if there’s no meaning in your day?”

 

“I know you wish I were still your grad student.” Jared ruffled the back of his hair and sighed. His thick bangs bobbed over his forehead, which was still covered, so carefully. Today, it was with black fleece, in deference to the weather.

 

“I can’t help it. You were so gifted.” Victor shrugged. “Of course, you still are. I went to the last Rocky Horror! I had no idea you kids were actually _singing_ the parts, now. It was really amazing. You all sound _so good_.” He chuckled. “Nothing like the actual material, obviously.”

 

“Not sure I hold up to Tim Curry, but we all work hard. It’s actually a challenge to just sing for fun,” Jared said. “None of us are particularly good at just cutting loose.”

 

“Can I get you anything? My treat. Least I can do.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything. I have no hard feelings.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

 

Jared frowned and looked at his feet, then up at the Specials board. “Hm. _That_ part is doing okay, too. Maybe not as smooth as I’d like, but I’ve managed to stay swinging free.”

 

“I’m glad. I worry about you. All of you out there. There are people who treat all of this like it’s a game, but it’s definitely not.” Victor leaned his head toward Jared. “You and I know better than most.”

 

“Definitely trying to be more careful.”

 

Victor twisted his lips sardonically. “If you ever get serious about being careful, ask Dean about those suits I showed him. I know he’ll remember the details.”

 

Jared opened his mouth, probably wanting to protest that he might not be serious about his afterhours work. But the truth was that Jared was serious, sometimes. And he treated it all a little too facetiously, sometimes. It was a defense mechanism. The little quips when he saved a citizen, the puns, the sudden career change. It was dangerous, trying to balance a life a young man with the life of a mask.

 

They reached the front of the line, and Victor smiled pleasantly at the young man at the counter.

 

“Goood morning!” the blond boy said cheerfully.

 

Victor matched the boy’s energy. “Morning!”

 

“Hi, Hank,” Jared said.

 

“Hey, Jared!”

 

“I didn’t know you were looking for work here,” Jared said. “It’ll be good to see you every once and a while.”

 

“I need to save up for a new bass. Practically everything burned up in the fire.”

 

“That’s too bad. Dean said you were pretty good.”

 

“He _did_?” Hank said.

 

The manager had his eye on Hank, so Victor ordered his dark roast, and a latte for Jared, and waited patiently for the boy to count the money. (Then for him to recount it when he dropped the change.) Victor topped it off with a generous tip to the jar. Service wasn’t an easy job, especially with caffeine-deprived students swarming in between classes.

 

“Good luck with the bass,” Victor said.

 

“Thanks!” Hank grinned, then shot finger guns at him. “A Latte!”

 

Victor walked over to the sugar station and dusted a little cinnamon and nutmeg in his coffee before securing the lid back on.

 

“That was Dean’s twin brother, you know,” Jared said.

 

“Nooo.” Victor looked back at the kid. “Huh.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Is he… safe?”

 

“For now. At least at home. He’s dating _Sirena_ , so… I keep an eye out for him. Or I try to.”

 

“Good. That’s good.” Victor brought his cup to his lips, hesitating just slightly. The simulacrum-flesh outside his metal skin couldn’t burn, and yet, years of memory overrode basic sense. Every damn time. He never seemed to remember. “I hope the best for those boys, I really do. It’s a hard life to live, Jared, being halfway between things. Both alive, and not. Human, and not. Both monster, and not.”

 

He paused, at the potential for burn. “In love, and not. Good guy, and bad guy. It can be hard to even keep on your feet.”

 

“Doc, are you all right?” Jared asked.

 

“Jared, I want you to know that my office is available to you always, even if you aren’t a part of my program.” He patted Jared’s shoulder. “You’re one of mine, no matter what you’re majoring in. And don’t worry about me, son. I may not look it, but I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive. I was born to it, then bred to it, and I know it like an old friend.”

 

“You do the monologue thing pretty well,” Jared teased. “I’m not so good at it.”

 

“I think your generation appreciates the one-liners better.”

 

* * *

 

Dean took copious, detailed notes as his fingers flew across the keyboard of the laptop he’d inherited from Uncle J.J. and his eyes glued to the PowerPoint flashing in front of him. Professor Isles lectured in her deep, powerful voice and strolled back and forth across the front of the room. She was only about average height, but had broad shoulders and well defined biceps, which were often exposed because despite the cold weather outside, she tended to run hot and would usually shrug her suit jacket off before class started. She was intense, as brutal as her intellect, and Dean could tell why Dr. Von Helping seemed to like her so much. She reminded him a little of that bodyguard to the Quymn family, only with flaming, close cropped red hair and much improved hygiene and diction.

 

It was good to be in class. In any of them. It distracted Dean from the more disorienting elements of his life. The pieces that made it so hard for him to keep his feet on the ground these days.

 

Dean had known when he’d gone to live on campus that things would change. He hadn’t prepared for how much they would change. He’d been disappointed that his dad and Hank hadn’t wanted to see him off on moving day. He hadn’t been prepared for what it felt like to not see them every day, to not hear their voices. What it felt like that no one had visited him yet. Only Brock has seen his dorm.

  
It really wasn’t that far.

 

He hadn’t been prepared to go home for the first time to do his laundry only to be greeted by a number of healing lacerations all over his father’s face and all of his things shoved into boxes with cute, flattering labels like “virginity protectors” and “dork supplies.”

 

He especially hadn’t been prepared to, in one weekend, rearrange his understanding of his father so completely. Rusty Venture: Scientist, Father, Diplomat… Clone.

 

In retrospect, hitting the streets with Jared had been a _grounding_ experience. Just swinging in to help people. Sometimes literally. Just keeping people safe. Working in the margins apart from the OSI or the Guild, or the “local talent” aka racketeers working for Wide Wale or some other kingpin in their territory. Actually effecting some kind of change in the world felt good. It was stabilizing in a way that the landscape of bleary grays Dean had grown up with from never could be.

 

Though he hated to admit it, Dean _missed_ going out with Jared. He didn’t like the idea that Jared was out there on his own, when so many little things could happen. However, Dean had to admit to himself that it wasn’t just concern for Jared’s well-being that was pushing him closer and closer to walking the streets at night. 

 

And it wasn’t just a desire for the street that kept him thinking of Jared.

 

Dean shoved the thoughts to the back of his brain as he gathered up his things at the end of class. Professor Isles had a cluster of students around her desk. She wasn’t as popular as Dr. Von Helping (for obvious reasons), but she had her devotees among the student body. Dean didn’t connect with her the way he had Von Helping. That wasn’t surprising, though. Dean could recognize a fellow wall-builder when he saw one.

 

She was probably cool to the touch, she was so cut off. Not cold, not cruel. Isles simply drew the personal back beyond reach and let her intelligence step forward. Beneath it all simmered a cool, righteous anger.

 

Dean checked his phone on his way to the library. Nothing new. Might as well just use the communicator watches.

 

“You did this to yourself,” he muttered, pausing near a maple tree to pull on his gloves. He leaned against it, wondering who he had to talk to, if not Jared. If not his teachers.

 

He’d spent his childhood in what was now the burned out husk of a mountain compound, surrounded by no one but strange, dramatic adult men. Now, on his own, even if he got along well enough with the people in his classes, he hadn’t exactly managed to make a significantly larger social circle. And his brother had once again found someone more interesting to be around. Not that Dean could blame Hank much. He hadn’t explained _anything_ about what was happening to him to his brother, and it was hard to talk to someone when you couldn’t… _talk_ about things.

 

“Did it to yourself,” he said again, pushing off the tree and deciding to get coffee before logging in some study hours. Halfway there, Dean’s feet stopped moving, and his heart thundered in his ears as a voice echoed in his mind:

 

**_Dean, we need you._ **

****

“Wh-what?” Dean looked around himself. The motion was so frantic that a few heads turned. Regardless, since he was in New York, even on a college campus, no one bothered to stop.

 

**_You have to come. Hurry._ **

****

Dean blinked dumbly. After he got a hold of himself, he realized that he recognized the voice. Daphne had never, _ever_ used her powers on him. It had to be serious. He didn’t even know where Daphne wanted him to go. But all at once, he _knew_. He could see the building in his mind’s eye. Some kind of abandoned hotel. The Grande Bailiwick Hotel.

 

Unsure of why Daphne would use such an extreme method to contact him, but certain that she was down-to-Earth enough to just text if it were anything short of life or death, Dean took off running for the bus.

 

He was two steps off the bus when Daphne took his arm and guided him into an alley. The hotel was still a block or so away, but Dean could see the elaborate front, with large doors and stone lions flanking the entrance.  

 

“What the Hell? Daphne, what—“

 

“Jared got grabbed this morning.” Daphne stepped back and started to wring her hands. “I don’t know who took him exactly, but I know where he is. The problem is, they figured out that someone was using magic during our mission and have some kind of… I don’t know. Anti-magic disruptor field around the building where they’re holding Jared.”

 

“You don’t know _who_?” Dean glanced around, then leaned closer to her. “Why would someone… Wouldn’t it be whoever you were running against last week?”

 

“I would’ve thought so, but Wide Wale isn’t exactly subtle like this. Jared would be up in Tophet by now. No question. Or just dead.” Daphne covered her mouth and shook her head. “We were fine. For _days_ , we were fine.”

 

“Daph, it’s broad daylight. They took him in _broad daylight_? How did they know who he was?”

 

Daphne threw her hands up. “He’s not exactly Mr. Secrecy. I’d bet most of Brooklyn knows who Brown Widow really is.”

 

“God.” Dean touched his chest and dropped his book bag to the ground. He’d been scared for Jared before. He’d seen him injured before, popped a wrenched shoulder back into its socket, caught sight of Brown Widow in near misses on the evening news. Now was different. Now he felt like his chest was being crushed. “Wh-what do we do?”

 

Daphne put her hands on her hips and looked down. “I’m not sure. I can’t hide your identity if my magic won’t work inside the building. But if you can get in there, and shut the disruptor off, I can cover our tracks.”

 

Dean leaned against the wall and bit his thumbnail, thinking.

 

“I have a scarf,” Daphne offered.

 

Dean nodded absently. Being caught wasn’t his biggest worry at the moment. Not knowing who was in there, what they were up to, that worried him.

 

“I can call Brock. Nothing stops him. He’ll get Jared out of there.”

 

“Will he keep it to himself? If OSI gets wind of what we’ve been doing, Jared’s not exactly going to be loving life. They’ll up his level. Wide Wale will send one of his allies after him, and they’ll fucking kill him.”

 

“What did you guys _do_?” Dean demanded.

 

Daphne pursed her lips and tensed her jaw. “Wide Wale has been pushing some pretty nasty drugs on the streets. We’ve been intercepting and disposing of them. He’s _not_ happy. My guess is that some of the cops aren’t so happy either. I didn’t think they’d make a move without Wale being involved, but, maybe they don’t want to have to admit to him that they lost the product? Maybe they’re connected to someone else—“

 

“You know The Guild always has connections to the local police force, right?” Dean said. “They buy them cop cars, help with pension funds. If Wale is giving some dirty cops a cut, the Guild is practically BFFs with cops.”

 

Daphne’s eyes widened.

 

“How do you guys not know that? I learned that when I was fifteen.”

 

“I was trained in different circles than you, Dean! I’ve only heard of your garden-variety corrupt, brutal cops. Not ones who bed down with _literal_ supervillains.”

 

Dean closed his eyes. “Pull out whatever you’ve got. Jared would be mad if I didn’t even _try_ to cover up my identity. You can still use your magic outside of the hotel, right?”

 

“Right.” Daphne opened her bag and pulled out a dark purple sweater and a long scarf.

 

Dean nodded and pressed his lips together. He knew how these things went, when there was someone to contact for ransom. When they had a reason to give the person back.

 

When they didn’t…?

 

“Night would be best, but they might move him before then, or worse.” Dean paused. “Did you get rid of all the drugs?”

 

“Yes. We weren’t smoking it or anything.”

 

“How? Where did it go?”

 

“I took them out to a remote location and incinerated them.” Daphne raised a brow. “With magic.”

 

Dean wobbled his head from side to side, then: “What did they look like? Powder? Something we could fake?”

 

“You want to trade them back chalk or flour for Jared?”

 

“I want some _options_. Because, Daph, I can knock down their door. I can dodge their bullets. But I can’t help Jared if they kill him before I get there. I want _them_ to want him alive.”

 

“Opening negotiations might be tricky. We could go to Wale himself, maybe. Work out a deal?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so. We might as well just sign up as henchmen.”

 

Daphne licked her lips and looked out the opening of the alleyway sadly. “I should’ve stopped Jared. I should’ve just put the brakes on this, instead of agreeing to help.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “You can’t stop him. This is part of who he is now. He wants to protect us, keep _us_ safe, but his well-being is always at the bottom of his priority list.”

 

“Jackass. Always has to prove himself.”

 

“Okay.” Dean took the long scarf. It was thick and silky and covered in an antique white and lavender pattern. He began to wind it around his face as he considered their immediate resources and what they might be able to tap in the next twenty minutes. “Let’s get our big, dumb spider.”

 

* * *

 

Jared couldn’t see anything. But he could hear voices talking occasionally. Men walking back and forth on the old, wooden floor.

 

He’d been a block from campus when they’d taken him. It had been so damn fast. Too fast to spin a web, or jump out of the way. Just two men behind him and he was in a car with a bag over his head. They’d asked him questions when they’d gotten to wherever they were. Kicked him when he said nothing.

 

But they were waiting. This wasn’t the hard part. They wanted something, or they would’ve killed him outright. They would’ve beaten him in earnest. Professionals did not pull their punches like this.

 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” screeched Sirena. Her voice was _unmistakable_. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, Donnie! You know who I am!”

 

Jared didn’t know what to make of that. Was she working for her father now? It seemed unlikely that Wale would allow her anywhere near the business, no matter how dangerous she could be.

 

“I’m sorry, Miss Ong, but we’re under orders—“

 

“From who? Not my daddy, that’s for sure. He doesn’t pull this chicken shit.” Her heels clomped against the weathered wood of the lobby. “Where is he?”

 

“If you could tell your father… Look, it _wasn’t_ our fault, what happened! _He’s_ the one who took the merchandise.”

 

“Oh yeah? And what did he do with it? How did _one guy_ get it from all a’you?”

 

“He was using magic, or something. Or working with someone- Look, it was magic! Our man on the street said they couldn’t tell their asses from their elbows!”

 

“So what else is new?” Sirena clicked her tongue. “Show me him. Where is he?”

 

“Miss—“

 

“Oh, shut it. Just let me see ‘im, so I can tell Daddy and Daddy can tell the Guild the Widow’s still alive and in one piece. He is, ain’t he? You know he’s got an arch of his own who ain’t gonna be happy someone else got to mess up his nemesis.”

 

“Yes, he’s _fine_. We just interrogated him a little. Hold on.”

 

Jared looked up as he heard the steps coming toward his room. He’d been wrestling with the zip ties around his wrists, to no avail. None of his methods for getting out of them worked when he couldn’t get his hands over his head. He stilled when he heard the door open and, almost instinctively, shrank back.

 

“There he is,” his captor, Donnie, said.

 

“Show me his face,” Sirena demanded.

 

Jared could tell that the man was hesitating. Sirena’s shoe tapped on the floor impatiently. Eventually, he caved and came over beside Jared, slipping off the bag. He declined to remove the gag.

 

Blinking up at the bright lights, Jared focused on the figures in front of him. A young cop. Not much older than he was. And Sirena. Her hair was pinned up, and she was wearing a crop top and skirt under her coat. It looked like she’d come straight from a date. That was odd. Jared took in his surroundings as well. Some kind of conference room? There was a table and chairs and a very old (broken) projector.

 

“You drop him down an elevator shaft?” Sirena asked. She leaned over and gripped his face with her fingers, looking at him harshly. “You should just put a blindfold on ‘im. He’s gonna suffocate that way.”

 

“Ah, yes. But, the eyes… We’d have to wrap it around his whole forehead.”

 

Sirena was staring at him for such a long amount of time. Looking over his face, his bruised neck, his rumpled school clothes. One of his upper eyes was swollen shut, so he couldn’t see out of it anyway.

 

“You really fucked up this time, Daddy Longlegs,” Sirena said softly.

 

“Miss Ong?” Donnie said uncertainly.

 

“Your buddies gone off for the day? They didn’t leave you here on your own, did they?” Sirena rose and put one hand on her hip. “That ain’t no way to run an operation.”

 

“No. I’m on the Widow, but there are five other guys waiting in the other conference room.”

 

“Five guys,” Sirena repeated, somewhat loudly, even for her. “That don’t sound too bad. They armed?”

 

“Um, yeah. Nothing illegal. Standard heaters.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

A crash outside caught Donnie’s attention. The moment he turned, Sirena’s leg came around, catching him flat against his back. He landed against the ground, hard, and Sirena whipped off her shoe and slammed the heel against the back of his head.

 

“Sorry, Donnie.”

 

Jared blinked up at her in disbelief. In the room next door, he could hear the sounds of a fight brewing. Sirena knelt behind him, reached into her purse, and cut the zip ties.

 

Jared pulled away his gag and took in a deep breath. “Thank you. That’s was… some decent work.”

 

“Whatever. Are hurt? Can you walk?” She touched his arm as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

 

“They were just trying to scare me.”

 

“Fuckin’ amateurs. Like _they_ could scare you after what Daddy did.” She looked up at him, her steely exterior faltering, just for a moment. “You must’a really pissed ‘em off.”

 

“I aim to misbehave.”

 

 “We don’t got time for witty little spider quips.” Sirena took the lead. “C’mon. Hurry.”

 

He followed her out into what was clearly a decrepit hotel lobby, where several large men were fighting one smaller man. A man Jared knew too well. Even wearing two extra sweaters over his hoodie. Even with a scarf wrapped around his face so only his eyes showed.

 

“Come on,” Sirena ordered.

 

“I can help—“

 

“That’s not the plan.” She jerked on him hard enough for it to hurt, but she wasn’t leading him toward the door. They slipped behind the men fighting, and she peered into the second conference room. “Shit. Okay, we have to find this thing fast.”

 

“What are we finding?”

 

“Some kind of tech that makes magic not work.”

 

Jared nodded. “Let’s split up. I can walk well enough, and you’ll know it when you see it. That would have to have some kind of stone in the middle, and it’ll be making a humming noise. Almost like chords on a synthesizer.”

 

Never in his life would he have thought when he got up this morning that he’d be running an extraction with Sirena Ong, least of all when he was the person being extracted. Maybe he ought to have another conversation with Dr. Von Helping about how to be more careful.

 

* * *

 

“No. I’m on the Widow, but there are five other guys waiting in the other conference room,” the words crackled out of the little surveillance radio Sirena had brought with her.

 

Dean wasn’t going to ask how she’d gotten it so fast.

 

This wasn’t how you did things. Not the way Thaddeus Venture would’ve done them, anyway. Dean couldn’t help but think, when he walked straight into the hotel, with no cover except an illusion keeping anyone outside from noticing him or any noises within, that this wasn’t too far from how Brock would do things.

 

Except he’d do it more efficiently. He’d do it faster. And when the bodies hit the floor, they’d be dead.

 

Dean had the element of surprise though. He’d kicked the door to the second conference room so hard that it had gone flying inward, doing him the favor of knocking out one of the men inside. They were all young. Thirties at most, one wearing a faded Mets cap, another in a black wifebeater. Dean’s heart nearly stopped when he recognized a police uniform in the mix. He pushed past his discomfort and rushed forward.

 

Hands were reaching for guns already. Dean aimed low, knocking one man off his feet, then grabbing his legs and swinging him around to knock the cop down.

 

“Not here to hurt anyone, Officer,” Dean said, putting one foot on the man’s chest as he dropped the first man to the ground. He could read “Schlopy” on his name badge. “ _Please_ stay down.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the man barked. He reached for his gun again.

 

“I wouldn’t do that, sir.”

 

Dean didn’t have a choice at that point. The remaining two men had their guns trained on him, and he was wearing casual-wear for armor. He raised a hand over his head in a tight fist, brought it down on Schlopy’s chest like wielding a hammer, and then leapt up and ran directly toward the closest man with his Mets cap and glock.

 

The man behind him shot, just at that moment, causing the Mets fan to jump aside, and Dean dropped to the floor.

 

_Keep them busy. Don’t get shot. Keep them busy._ _Don’t get shot._ It was practically a mantra.

 

Schlopy struggled to his feet just as Dean grabbed the conference table and lifted it over his head.

 

“Goddamn,” said Mets fan. Schlopy stumbled backward in surprise.

 

But Dean tossed it at the man who had fired, knocking him to the ground.

 

“Guns are bad, people,” Dean said. “You’d think New York cops would know that by now. Are you _all_ cops? Consider me properly disillusioned.”

 

“You’re on the wrong side here, kid,” Schlopy snapped. “Stand down.”

 

“I’m not the one who kidnapped a college student off the street.”

 

The man under the table groaned, and Dean lost precious seconds looking over to see if he was seriously injured. Officer Schlopy came at him swinging, and Dean caught his fist in one hand.

 

Mets fan bolted into the lobby. Dean shoved Schlopy back and ran after the man, afraid that he’d run into Jared and Sirena before they found the disruptor. The cop was on his heels, though, and the man who had gotten swung around by his leg followed after.

 

Bigger space. More options. And only one gun left in play, unless one of them ran back into the room.

 

Better odds.

 

Dean changed tactics. He flipped backwards, making them come after him. He dodged punches, swept legs, and at one point, used two of them to leapfrog over. He could outlast them in stamina, if he had to. Frustrate them with evasion. If no one else came in. He didn’t have to hurt them.

 

That had been the plan, at least.

 

But then Schlopy reached for his gun again, and Dean dodged just in time. The bullet sank deep into one of the other men. The one Dean had swung like a bat. Dean stopped, looking back for just a moment while the man groaned on the floor, before diving at Schlopy and grabbing the gun.

 

He threw it so hard that it imbedded in the wall.

 

“What the fuck are you?” the man demanded. “Another spider?”

 

“I’m mostly pissed off, now.” Dean shoved him back once more, this time hard enough to make him slide across the room.  “You didn’t have to do that!”

 

With one down with friendly fire, the last tough stood there staring at Dean. Dean took a step toward him, and Mets fan took a step back.

 

“You should help your buddy,” Dean advised.

 

Mets fan continued to back away.

 

“Stepping out that door wouldn’t work well for you, either,” Dean warned. “Brown Widow is a well-liked guy. In a lot of circles. Just stay here with your friend, make sure he gets first aid while you wait for your bosses to return. There’s no reason to die for them—“

 

The impact from behind caught Dean by surprise and knocked the air of out his lungs. Both he and Officer Schlopy hit the ground, and a thick, meaty arm wrapped around his neck from behind. Dean gasped, trying to get a breath as he struggled under the man’s weight. He had to be close to 300 pounds, between his height and build, both muscle and fat.

 

Dean could lift more than that, but from this angle, he wasn’t sure he could get Schlopy off of him.

 

“Brad, that’s a kid,” Mets fan sputtered.

 

“He’s one of them, and he’s taken out three of us! We only have to keep the spider alive.”

 

_“C’mon! Keep your hands up!”_ Brock’s gravelly baritone seemed to echo in Dean’s ears along with a distant ringing. _“You’ve gotta put everything into it. Don’t just- Come ooon! Dig in!”_

 

Brock had given him the tools to get out of this situation. Whether he wanted them or not, they were written into his brain. He didn’t have much leverage from their position, but Dean shoved against the floor, lifting them both up as he grabbed Schlopy’s arm with the other hand, gripping the man’s wrist with all of his strength.

 

The crack came soon enough, causing Schlopy to dig into Dean’s back with his knee, but Dean was already taking advantage of the gap in Schlopy’s hold to wriggle out of the headlock. He adjusted his grip on the man’s arm, then jerked him forward. Schlopy fell forward in spite of himself and Dean sprang up and grabbed the back of his head, knocking his forehead into the floor. Hard.

 

Hopefully not too hard. But the man was unconscious. And Dean could breathe.

 

Dean hadn’t seen Jared arrive. But he was standing there, and Mets fan was covered in webbing. He was stuck to the wall, several feet up. Dean rose to his feet and stepped closer to the man.

 

“Jesus, kid! I’m down! I can’t get out of this stuff!” he cried.  “Don’t hurt me!”

 

Dean let his shoulders sag as he rubbed his throat and looked at Jared. “D-did you find it?”

 

“Nice job here,” Jared said. “No, I didn’t.”

 

“I got it.” Sirena came sauntering into the lobby. “But I dunno how to turn it off.”

 

“Lemme see,” Dean muttered. He pulled the scarf from his mouth and took a few more deep breaths.

 

“We should go,” Jared said. “Before more of these guys wake up… I mean, I assume they’ll wake up.”

 

“Except for Johns, who Brad shot, yeah,” the webbed Mets fan said.

 

“God.” Dean shook his head, feeling dizzy.

 

“Daph?” Sirena held her phone up. “Can you come in here and turn this thing off so you can illusion us outta here?”

 

Jared touched Dean’s back, sort of the way he did when they were dancing. It steadied him, even though Dean couldn’t stop looking at the bodies around them. Especially the man curled over with a gunshot wound. He was still groaning, but now he was pale and not moving.

 

When Daphne entered through the front doors, she hesitated for just a moment at the evidence of mayhem around her, then took the large, circular disk that Sirena was holding and held three of the sides down. A light pulse throbbed twice, then the stone hovering above it grew dark, and suddenly the air felt different. Warmer.

 

Daphne handed it back to Sirena. “Hang onto that? I want to study it.”

 

“Daph, can you?” Jared looked over to the man bleeding on the floor.

 

“Now I can.” She knelt by him and held her hand over him. He stopped groaning, although he still looked back. “Not good. But he’ll live if he can get to the hospital.”

 

“I can call,” Mets fan offered, in an earnest tone.

 

“You’d think so, but I’m about to wipe all of ya’ll’s memories. So I hope you have the sense to do it after.” Daphne stood and looked around. “Is this everyone?”

 

“There’s one more in that room.” Sirena pointed.

 

“Two in that other one,” Dean muttered.

 

Daphne closed her eyes and held her hands up, each with a thumb pressed to the tip of her middle finger. Her lips moved silently, and a glow began to emanate from her breast. It diverged into six individual lights, which floated up and away from her, spiriting in to each room, and finally to the three men around them.

 

She opened her eyes. “We have to go. They’ll all wake soon with bad headaches, if their injuries don’t prevent it, and we do not want to be anywhere near. It could disrupt the illusion I placed and let them remember.”

 

A few minutes later, they were walking, completely unseen, through the front door. They made it a block before Sirena said, “You guys are fuckin’ stupid. You know that?”

 

“I don’t know about them.” Jared wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “But I am. Fortunately, I’m also very lucky.”

 

“Luck, nothin’.” Sirena looked to Daphne. “You sure they won’t remember me?”

 

“Healing, I’m for shit. Illusions and confusions, I’m your bitch.” Daphne took her arm. “We owe you one.”

 

“We really do, Sirena. You didn’t have to come. I would hate if Dean had to walk into that situation blind,” Jared said.

 

“I’m not much of a joiner.” Sirena shrugged. “But who’s gonna let the Baby Boy go get hurt, huh?”

 

Sirena reached over and unwound Dean’s scarf.

 

“This is the worse costume I’ve _ever_ seen, by the way. Like, just pathetic.”

 

“Well, I’m not exactly scary when you can see my face,” Dean muttered. His voice was a little hoarse. It still felt like someone was pressing against his throat.

 

Jared rubbed his hand up and down Dean’s arm. “You did really well.”

 

“I could’ve done _a lot_ better.” His head rested against Jared’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

 

“They barely touched me. They must’ve been hoping to get the location of their product. Saving me for when the pros came.”

 

“We’re gonna have to figure out who their bosses are,” Daphne said.

 

“I’ll keep an ear out at home,” Sirena said. “If you were fuckin’ with Daddy’s business, Jare, he’s not gonna be quiet about it.”

 

“We’ve got some of their names, right? The two cops?” Dean suggested. “I wasn’t expecting to see one right off duty to oversee a kidnapping.”

 

“Welcome to New York,” Sirena said. “It’s like a hobby for some o’them. Now, I think someone owes us some drinks.”

  
“You and Dean are underage!” Jared objected.

 

“Fuck that. We just saved your ass!”

 

“Let’s go back to my place.” Daphne looked behind them, then motioned for them to follow her across the street. “I have a liquor store on the bottom floor of my building. These two infants will be easier to keep an eye on in a studio apartment.”

 

“Who’s an infant?” Sirena objected.

 

Daphne smiled. “You’re both _barely_ legal.”

 

“I’ll be nineteen in a few months,” Dean objected.

 

“If you live that long,” Sirena muttered.

 

“Hey! He will.” Jared squeezed Dean more tightly.

 

Instinctively, Dean grabbed his Jared’s arm, twisted it behind him, and slipped away. Surprised, he stepped back from Jared. He hadn’t meant to do that. He could’ve easily pressed in for a break or flipped Jared across the street into traffic.

 

“I-I’m sorry!”

 

“It’s okay.” Jared held his hands up. “You just got out of a pretty intense fight. People react in different ways to that.”

 

Dean hugged his arms. “Ideally not by breaking your friend’s bones.”

 

“I’m okay, though.” Jared held his arm out. “See?”

 

“Yeah, I got questions about that,” Sirena said, pointing at Dean. “Hank talks about you like the one most likely to bail on a fight. You took on five guys back there by yourself.”

 

“It’s complicated,” Dean muttered.

 

“Come on, guys,” Daphne said. “I want to get indoors. I can’t hold an illusion forever. People are gonna start running into us.”

 

The four of them followed Daphne silently while Dean kept a distinct space between himself and Jared. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to get hurt tonight. Especially Jared. Especially when they could’ve lost him if things hadn’t gone their way in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part got so long that I chopped it into two chapters. You can see the "unsanctioned team-up" having an after party next week in "From the Devil's Cup."


	7. From the Devil's Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unsanctioned team-up engages in some under-aged drinking. After the after-party at Daphne’s, a drunk Dean gets a little carried away.
> 
>  
> 
>  

“Holy shit, Daph.” Sirena scanned Daphne’s apartment in one long glance.

 

And that was all it took, because she could look at a narrow kitchen on the left, scan around to a couch with a bed right next to it, and then a small room off to the side that might’ve been a bathroom. It took about three seconds.

 

“Yeah, holy shit.” Daphne walked over to the kitchen, which between the counter and the fridge was barely wide enough to fit her. She set the brown bag on the counter. “I pay $1250 a month for this closet.”

 

“Where do you get the money?” Dean asked.

 

“The Conservatory gave me a scholarship to continue my studies at Stuyvesant, and it includes a stipend. Which covers _half_.” Daphne pulled out a corkscrew and shrugged. “I get the other half, plus what I need to be fed and clothed, from freelance witchery—you know, readings—and ghostwriting, and I work at Jared’s aunts’ bookstore sometimes.”

 

“How they got the balls to charge you over a grand for this?” Sirena walked around the apartment, staring at the immaculately organized space in utter disbelief. The television was mounted on the wall next to the corner of a kitchen, but just above the left arm of the sofa. She could probably play “the floor is lava” in here for days and never lose. “My room at home? It’s bigger than your whole goddamn apartment.”

 

Daphne chuckled, then looked over to Jared. He shrugged.

 

Sirena pointed at them both. “Don’t you two start about us being infants again.”

 

“Uncle J.J.’s place is the same. Although Hank’s old room… a _little_ smaller than this,” Dean said.

 

“Yeah, he said you got the good room. He was super pissed.”

 

“It’s his now,” Dean said.

 

“What about when you go home for break?”

 

Sirena caught a look pass between Dean and Jared. Nothing she expected, either. There was no reason for so much fear to be lighting up the air. Sirena was a little tempted to take Dean’s hand, see what was really lurking under that mixed-up skin of his.

 

Daphne popped the bottle and poured the wine into some empty jars.

 

“This is janky, girl,” Sirena said, accepting a pickle jar.

 

“Get used to it.” Daphne laughed and held up her jam jar. “Zillenial chic, up in here.”

 

“I thought Mason jars were the hipster thing.” Sirena sipped the dark, dry red and sighed. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been. Even knowing Daphne would come in for clean up, it was hard to lie her face off to people who could turn around and spill to her dad.

 

As much as she fought him, Sirena hated the idea of her dad being disappointed with her. Not to mention he’d flip the fuck out and lock her away forever if he caught her slumming with masks.

 

“Hipsters _buy_ Mason jars especially to drink from. These?” Daphne gestured to her cabinets. “I just keep the jars when I’m done with the contents.”

 

“Janky.”

 

“It’s kind of cool.” Dean looked at the jar he was given. “What was this?”

 

“Um, hot pickled okra, I think.”

 

Dean smiled and sniffed the wine.

 

“Ohhh my god.” Daphne glanced up at Jared with a knowing smile. “ _Babies_. Is this the first time you’ve had wine?”

 

“No.” Dean sniffed it again.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“It’s just been a really long time. I think I was… God, like, twelve?” Dean sipped it experimentally and made a sour face. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

 

“Well, you can sip wine like old ladies.” Jared inched over to the kitchen, and Daphne slipped out of the way and dropped onto her sofa. “I’m going to mix some rum and off-brand Diet Dr. Pepper, like the big queer I am.”

 

“That sounds better.” Dean went over to lean against the wall next to the kitchen.

 

“Pace yourselves, kids. And drink a glass of water for every drink,” Jared advised.

 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Jare. I know how to drink.” Sirena drained her jar and took Dean’s.

 

“Having a rough night?” Daphne asked.

 

“Hank and I had a fight just before you called. I can feel my purse buzzin’ every five seconds.”

 

“What happened?” Dean asked.

 

“Oh, you wanna talk now?” Sirena sat on the edge of Daphne’s bed. “How about you talk about how you busted that door to the conference room off its fuckin’ hinges? Or about how you’re flat out scared to go home? Hank’s figured that one out, though he don’t know why yet, because you and Jared are piss poor liars.”

 

“That’s a long story,” Dean muttered.

 

Sirena tilted her head back and slipped her scarf down, revealing her gills, although everyone in the room knew they were there. “You’re not the only freakshow here, y’know. Not by a long shot.”

 

Jared reached over to touch Dean’s shoulder, but hesitated, and handed him a fresh drink. Dean took it and met Jared’s eye. The silence was long, and Sirena thought that one of them would cheerfully change the subject, but instead, quietly, Dean started speaking about “bio-bots,” and downloads, and accelerated healing, and enhanced strength. Sirena forgot her wine in a jar and listened.

 

She could follow most of it, even if Dean was talking very technically and dispassionately. Her skin was growing hot, and she knew, if Hank had heard about this, he would never have been able to keep it from her. He’d be too mad.

 

“Fair enough,” Sirena said coolly when Dean finished. “So you can’t go home. Where will you go?”

 

“I haven’t thought about that yet.” Dean sipped the rum and “Dr. Snapper.” “I’m just trying to get through the semester alive.”

 

“You can sleep on the floor here,” Daphne joked. “If you can find a space.”

 

“I could sleep in the bathtub,” Dean quipped back. “I used to do that when Hank had Dermott over and they locked me out of our room.”

 

The mood was lifting, but Sirena still felt a heaviness in her chest. It was bad enough when her dad chipped her. This… She shuddered.

 

The boys settled onto the couch, right beside one another. Dean kicked off his shoes and crossed his legs underneath him, and Jared propped his feet on the tiny coffee table directly in front of the couch. Sirena raised a brow when she realized that apparently none of them could sit in on furniture normally, because Daphne had leaned back against Jared and hung her legs over the arm of the sofa.

 

“Are you guys a team-up?” Sirena asked. “Should’a looked into that before agreeing to help, so it’s on me. But are you?”

 

“Yes,” said Jared.

 

“No,” Dean said at the same time.

 

Daphne looked at them and frowned. “Jared and I have been working together, and Dean went on a few patrols with Jared, but we’ve never all done a mission all together before.”

 

“Good of Daddy Longlegs to bring ya together like this, huh?” Sirena teased.  

 

“It was a one-time thing,” Daphne said. “You don’t have to worry about officially joining a side.”

 

“Hon, I don’t join nobody.” Sirena slipped off her own shoes and began to massage the arch of her foot.

 

“Maybe a two-time thing,” Dean said quietly. He looked up as their eyes went to him. “Whoever was in charge today? Whoever’s the big boss? They aren’t going to _stop_ just because we sprung Jared the once. They know who you are, and they aren’t afraid to take you off the street. We’re going to have to deal with this.”

 

“You don’t think they’ll be put off by how hard you beat those guys’ asses?” Sirena said.

 

Dean flinched, but said flatly, “No, I don’t. I think they’ll be coming for us. They may not know who Daphne and I are yet, but if this keeps up, they’ll figure it out. We need to shut this down before it gets bigger.”

 

“They want their drugs back,” Daphne groaned.

 

“Well, we aren’t giving them back,” Jared said in alarm. “You destroyed them anyway.”

 

“I did, and that’s not the idea. Dean and I were talking before we figured out how to get a set of eyes in the hotel, and realistically, the only way we’re getting these assholes off your back for good is to make them believe we gave the drugs back.”

 

“And what, they sell fake drugs to kids? That’s not too much better.” Jared shook his head. “That’s three to five years, and that’s if no one hurts themselves while they think they’re high.”

 

“You’re such a fuckin’ boy scout,” Sirena said.

 

“I know it isn’t much, but the people in my old neighborhood expect the Brown Widow to _actually_ be a good guy. Giving in to corrupt cops and gangsters to save my skin isn’t very appealing.”

 

Dean swirled the drink in his jar around, then drained the glass. “It won’t be the Brown Widow doing it.”

 

Jared turned to stare at him. “Dean—“

 

“I mean, physically, it’ll be you, yes, but they don’t know for certain that you and Daphne had anything to do with the original theft of their product.” Dean set the glass down on the coffee table, then looked at Daphne. “Where’s my bag?”

 

“Oh, right.” Daphne hoisted herself up and dug under the bed until she had a weathered, brown messenger bag.

 

Dean took it, pulled out his phone, and started texting. “Dr. Von Helping has some extra costumes he’s been working on. You’re not the only spider to work this town, so it shouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say that they grabbed the wrong one.”

 

Sirena crossed one leg over the other and looked at him critically. “Okay, _Dr. Venture_ —“

 

Dean scowled.

 

“They’re gonna notice when your drugs don’t get people high,” Sirena said.

 

“Not necessarily.” Daphne perched on the arm of the sofa. “I can charm the powder. Have it give people a sense of…” She circled one hand in the air, coming up with the words. “Well-being and security.”

 

“Magic dope?” Sirena said.

 

“Guys—“ Jared held his hands up and looked to each of them. “—I can’t ask you to get involved in this for me. I got in over my head. This is on me.”

 

“Yeah, until the ballers after _you_ figure out Jared Janson has a _roommate_ ,” Sirena pointed out.

 

It was almost comical, the way each of Jared’s eyes rounded out in unison. Sirena had never seen them do that before, though to be fair, she didn’t see him without his headbands often. This was probably the longest she’d managed to be in his presence since their break-up. Maybe seeing him all tied up and beaten again (this time, not her fault) had done the trick.

 

“Dr. Von Helping says he can have the suits ready in a couple of days.” Dean’s lips curved to the side. “And he has been adding some extra features to mine, apparently.”

 

“You’re, um, getting a suit?” Jared asked, with failed nonchalance.

 

“I hadn’t really given a definitive yes, but he must’ve guessed I would eventually. It’s stupid to keep going out without one.” Dean shrugged. “This is where we are. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like, but—“ He got up and went to pour himself another drink. “—I do know that you’re going to need back-up when you make the hand-off to those guys, so Daphne can focus on her part of this.”

 

He held up his jar. “So until we’re _out_ of this mess? I’m in.”

 

Daphne held up her glass as well, but then hurried over to refill her wine. “Okay, I’m ready.”

 

“I appreciate this. I know this whole life is something you’ve been trying very hard to stay away from.” Jared sighed heavily. “But I am glad you’ll be wearing some protection. After what happened last time, I have to admit, you scared me today.”

 

“Well, you scared me, too,” Dean snapped. “You’ve been at this longer. You should’ve planned better from the outset. You know that when you start poking a snake’s nest, they’re going to strike back at you.”

 

“Honestly, I don’t think Jared or I have the sense about the game that you do,” Daphne admitted. “In spellcraft circles, we’re rarely dealing with day-to-day mundane crimes. Jared spends most of his time helping on an individual basis. We weren’t nearly informed enough about the deeper systems we’d be disrupting.”

 

Sirena came over and held out her glass for Daphne, who sucked in her cheeks, but then took her glass and took it over to the counter, where she filled it with water from a Pur filter water pitcher.

 

“Hey!” Sirena objected.

 

“I don’t want fish barf on my bed. Drink some water.”

 

“Fine.” Sirena took a drink.

 

“Little babies,” Jared teased.

 

“Weren’t you assholes gonna do a toast?” Sirena grumbled.

 

Daphne looked at her and shrugged. “To maybe not fucking the dog this time?”

 

“To no one getting shot,” Dean suggested.

 

“Excelsior!” Jared cheered.

 

“Oh my _god_ , I can’t even with you right now,” Sirena groaned.

 

* * *

 

Dean went home with Jared a little tipsy, feeling both sleepy and energized in a way he had never felt before. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had, how much water. Daphne had put on some music and demanded Dean show her a few of the dance moves that he’d learned in class. He’d told her that they weren’t the kind of moves you do at a party, but undeterred, she levitated her furniture out of the way and took his hand. After a turn or two, Daphne gave Sirena a spin, leaving Dean by the wall with Jared, both of their cheeks growing warm at the implication.

 

They could dance. They should. They had before, often, practicing inside or out on the lawn of their dorm. It shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did, and instead of taking Jared’s hand, Dean snuck glances over to him, knowing that the kind of bravery his family celebrated, and the kind he needed, were completely different types. He ended up taking a turn out with Sirena without ever asking Jared.

 

When they had worn themselves out (or drunk enough to not want to risk tripping over thing around anymore), Sirena had food delivered to the apartment, and they’d spent a pleasant evening talking mostly about everything _but_ schemes to outwit the mob and keep Jared alive. But the weight of those men on the floor… shot, concussed, knocked out by tables and doors… It never left.

 

Nor did the memory of that moment when Dean had, instinctively, nearly twisted Jared’s arm out of its socket.

 

Each footstep fell in front of Dean heavily, but his head felt light, his skin on fire. He knew his cheeks had to be the brightest red. His breath fogged in front of him, and he watched it with a sort of amusement.

 

“Careful.” Jared caught Dean as he stumbled and held him close. “I knew I should’ve stopped you before that last glass.”

 

“I’m fine. I’m pretty sure I can’t actually overdose on alcohol or anything.” Dean shook his head. “ _That_ would be normal.”

 

“True.”

 

Jared didn’t let him go. He held onto Dean as they walked under the rows of maples, tall and bare, guiding them along the pathways of the campus.

 

“I remember what it felt like after everything changed for me. Funny, though, because even though it was an accident, I did it to myself.” Jared rubbed Dean’s shoulder. “Suddenly, I sensed everything differently. I had extra _eyes_. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up jumping into the ceiling. And I worried, how far the changes would go. How long I’d keep changing. If I’d get to a point where I didn’t recognize myself.”

 

Dean let his head flop against Jared’s shoulder. Even though they weren’t much broader than his own, Dean couldn’t help but liking the feel of being near him. He felt a sense of security around Jared that he hadn’t for a long time. Maybe not since Brock had left a few years ago.

 

“But it’s not so bad,” Jared continued. “A little extra strength. Get to help people.”

 

“Kicked a door off its hinges today. That’s not a _little_ extra strength.”

 

“Oh. Well, I meant me.”

 

“You know, the day before I changed, Brock was trying to get me to run laps in the park. I completely collapsed. I couldn’t keep up with them at all. My brother has called me a wuss practically my whole life… and it was _true_. And I didn’t _care_.”

 

Jared stopped, and Dean looked around. They were at the bench in front of the fountain at the student center. Jared’s hands remained securely on him as they sat down. Dean let his head fall back against the wood. Above him the sky swirled, and he felt the cold air entering his lungs. His pulse rushed in his ears.

 

“What if that guy dies?”

 

Jared didn’t even ask who. “You weren’t the one holding the gun.”

 

“No, but if I’d taken that cop out sooner, no one would’ve gotten shot.”

 

“It’s a tough choice to make. Who to hurt, and how.”

 

Jared’s fingers brushed back Dean’s hair, and Dean glanced over to see Jared’s furrowed brows and pouting lips.

 

“And if I don’t want to hurt anyone? How do I do that, when I can’t control other people?”

 

“You can’t,” Jared practically whispered. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not sure…” Dean swallowed and tensed his jaw. “I don’t think I can get out of my father’s world. I know I said I wanted to, for as long as you’ve known me. I’m just not sure it’s possible.”

 

“I’m not makin’ it any easier, either,” Jared said.

 

“The world is plenty messed up on its own. That’s not your doing.”

 

“No. But you could get out after we clean this up, if you wanted to.” Jared paused, his fingers still petting Dean’s hair carefully. “I could find you another roommate. It would be easier for you to stay out of it.”

 

Dean’s stomach clenched almost painfully at the thought of leaving Jared alone. But if he wanted _out_ , he couldn’t be best friends with someone so dedicatedly _in_. So why was it so hard to just say no to all of this?

 

Jared chuckled. Dean opened his eyes and smiled.

 

“Are laughing at me?”

 

“Not at you. Just… Spending the evening drinking with Sirena and Daphne. After being abducted. Making plans to hand out magic pixie dust in place of a drug that was already called SparklePony. Things are just funny. Aren’t they?”

  
“They are.” Dean sat up and curled into Jared’s chest. “You’re warm.”

 

“Yep. I was real glad I got to keep the ‘warm-blooded’ bit.”

 

“Are you waiting for me to sober up so I don’t fall again?”

 

“Maybe a ‘lil bit.”

 

Dean shook with laughter. He was so close to Jared. He could smell the rum and coffee on him, and the odd coconut of the co-wash Jared used in his hair. Those, layered deliciously on top of that scent that Dean had come to intimately know, as his roommate of course, to be distinctively Jared. Jared turned to say something else, and Dean leaned in suddenly and kissed him.

 

Jared stiffened for a second as Dean pressed his lips to Jared’s. Dean barely remembered his first kiss, so did this count as the replacement? His hand grasped the side of Jared’s face, willing him to stay, to let this happen. In the daylight, Dean would never have dared, but in the dark, in the ethereal emptiness of the campus, it felt like they’d fallen into an alternate universe where Dean was allowed to do this, where he was allowed to _want_ this, and it might just be… okay.

 

Jared’s tongue ran over Dean’s lower lip, then gave it a gentle suck before kissing him again with an eagerness that spoke to an identical want. The warmth that Dean had leached from Jared seemed to leave his body moment by moment. Kiss by kiss, pant by pant.

 

Then, Jared was pushing him away, looking into his eyes, and Dean’s world spun around him the same way it had when he and Hank had twirled around and around in the yard and then fallen back on the grass. They stopped but the world kept moving.

 

“I…”

 

And then Dean fell back. He didn’t hit the ground. Jared had caught him. But the world still spun, and Jared swore and picked Dean up and clutched him to himself tightly.

 

“I’m so sorry, Dean! I’m so, so sorry!”

 

* * *

 

Out of the black, Dean came to still in Jared’s arms. They were approaching the clinic, and Dean gripped Jared’s shoulder, trying to get his attention.

 

“You can’t take me in there,” Dean objected. His voice was hoarse and weak and slurred and odd to his own ears. It was barely a thread, but Jared seemed to have heard him, as he slowed to a stop.

 

“We have to!”

 

“You know I can’t,” Dean begged. “Just take me home.”

 

Jared hesitated. He looked up at the clinic, then back to Dean’s groggy, pleading eyes.

 

“You don’t even know what happened,” Jared said.

 

“I don’t?”

 

“Brown widows are _poisonous_ , Dean. They’re just as poisonous as black widows. They just inject less poison at once.”

 

Dean blinked at the revelation. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to him that a guy whose genes had mixed with a _deadly spider_ might have toxins in his saliva?

 

“I’m scared to just take you back to the dorm. Couldn’t we just... Tell them you passed out? The clinic doesn’t keep track of that. They’re too determined to get kids to come to the clinic at all when they drink. Just to be safe? Just in case you need some care?” Jared begged.

 

Dean was getting sleepy again, but he didn’t know if he could afford close scrutiny from real doctors. And he trusted that his nanobots were hard at work filtering the poison from his system. He just had no standard for how quickly they could work and how efficient his liver was.

 

“Please. Dean?”

 

It was the break in Jared’s voice that did it.

 

“ _Fine_. I drank too much. Don’t let them call my dad. He’ll freak out.”

 

As it turned out, Dean’s fears had been unfounded. The doctor barely looked at him. She smiled reassuringly, took his pulse, and told him that his symptoms didn’t indicate that he had alcohol poisoning, but that they should observe him anyway.

 

“I’m glad you let your friend bring you in. At your age, you can’t be too careful. You kids don’t know how to drink yet, and it can be too much. It’s really best to make sure you have people you can trust around, _if_ you’re going to drink.” She wrote some notes on her chart. “I’m going to get Dana in here to give you an IV, okay?”

 

“An IV?” Dean muttered.

 

His eyes were threatening to close. The doctor seemed to see his sleepiness as natural.

 

“You’re not in immediate danger, so we’ll give you some fluids to get you rehydrated and keep an eye on you,” she said.

 

“Thanks.” Dean swallowed and looked over to Jared, who looked incredibly nervous.

 

A few minutes later, Dean was laying back on the cot with an IV stuck in his arm. Jared sat by his side with his hands folded, looking guilty.

 

Strangely, being poisoned felt better than this. Dean wished the world were still spinning. He wished he couldn’t tell where was up or down. He wished he weren’t sobering up and feeling disgusted and ashamed with himself for kissing Jared out of the blue like that.

 

“Stop it,” Dean said.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m starting to feel better. So either your venom isn’t very strong, or Venture livers are stronger.” Dean shifted on the bed, feeling hot in an entirely unpleasant way. He should’ve taken his hoodie off before they stuck the IV in.

 

“Thank God.” Jared wilted, looking chagrined and puppyish. “I never wanted to hurt you, Dean.”

 

“I’m resilient. I’ve always been. It’s in the design,” Dean joked, his voice dry and morbid. His heart going crazy in his chest, he managed, clenching his teeth a little, “Anyway, I shouldn’t have done it. I was drunk. I just wanted to see what it would feel like.”

 

“W-what?”

 

“What I… did? On the bench? I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about it?” Dean’s fingers curled over the fabric of his shirt. “Please?”

 

“Oh.”

 

It was hard to read Jared’s tone. He was so kind. And so open. But Dean thought, maybe, he sounded disappointed.

 

“You’re the one who got poisoned. You get to decide if it meant anything,” Jared said after a moment.

 

“No, it’s not like that. I swear, it’s not because of how you are,” Dean said quickly. “Please don’t think that. Jared, you’re pretty much my best friend right now. And you’re so great. I’m just...”

 

Confused? Scared? Too fucked up for this?

 

“I’m not _gay_ ,” Dean finished. Pathetically. Defensively.

 

“Oh.”

 

Great. Another ‘oh.’

 

“Well, you don’t have to excuse it. I’m okay with the straights,” Jared said, a bit too cheerfully.

 

“With the straights!” Dean laughed softly. He wanted to cry.

 

“I mean, girls get to try things out when they’re drunk, without having to rethink a fundamental part of themselves.” Jared stood and pushed his hands into his pockets. He paced around the room for several minutes while Dean watched him. “I’m glad you let me take you in. Even if it didn’t mean anything, and even if you’re okay. I hate this part of it. It’s such a stupid, useless ability. What am I supposed to do? Lay one on Wide Wale?”

 

For some reason, that struck Dean as hysterical. He laughed until his giggling spread to Jared, and then, he was laughing as well. Jared returned to Dean’s side, trying to catch his breath.

 

“I think you’re my best friend, too.” Jared reached over and squeezed Dean’s hand. “But if something happened to you, Dean… I got you into this. I wasn’t aiming to.”

 

“You gave me a place to crash. You listen to all my complaining. I’m lucky to have you.”

 

“Friends listen to each other complain. You aren’t the biggest downer in the world, just for existing, y’know. I complain, too.”

 

“Not the way _I do_.”

 

“I’ve adjusted to my new normal. I complained plenty at first.”

 

“When I found out I was a clone, I dyed my hair and dressed in black for a year.”

 

Jared shrugged. He looked down at their hands. “You were in mourning.”

 

“For myself?”

 

“That makes perfect sense to me. There were a lot of yous that died.”

 

Dean blinked, feeling tears stinging his eyes, and he tried to cover them. Jared reached up to move Dean’s hand away. He cupped Dean’s cheek, not bothering to brush away the tears, and touched his forehead to Dean’s.

 

“ _Nobody_ ever gets that,” Dean muttered.

 

“I know.”

 

Somehow, the touch, the proximity of Jared’s face to his own, so close but unable to kiss, felt nearly as intimate as it had on the bench. Almost, almost…

  
Too close.

 

“Jared?” Dean peeped.

 

“Sorry.” Jared retreated and took his seat again. “I’m a little touchy-feely, I know. If it ever gets to be too much, just say so, okay?”

 

Dean nodded, feeling deeply guilty. He was grateful, though, beyond words, that Jared never left him.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to tell in the morning whether Dean had a hangover or just the residual effects of brown widow venom. That, combined with the delightfully awkward feelings that lingered in the air between himself and Jared, made Dean shower with extra hot water, trying in some way to scrub the toxic and the shame out of his skin.

 

He shouldn’t have tried to kiss Jared. And he shouldn’t have blown him off right after. He was so lucky to have someone who cared enough about him to listen to all of his problems. Not just listen, but try to understand. Dean didn’t know what was wrong with him. Not long ago he had reached out to his father—the man who had lied to him his whole life, and more recently messed with his brain without his consent—with open arms and told him that he loved him, but detangling his feelings for his best friend was apparently too daunting to handle without panic and denial.

 

It was hard to suss out, certainly. Dean had, er, reactions, to girls before. Not predictably, and not often, but he’d had them. Sometimes. He’d also had a _reaction_ to being threatened with beheading, jogging, and a particularly tough math problem once. That Jared made his pulse race and his body react didn’t have to mean anything.

 

Or it did, and Dean just couldn’t think about the consequences of what that might mean right now.

 

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He needed to get the suits from Dr. Von Helping and make sure they had this plan as tight as possible before diving in. No more carelessness. No more letting the bad guys dictate the playing field. No more uncertainty.

 

Dean arrived at Dr. Von Helping’s office, his head still stuffed full of thoughts (and aching from the night before) that he didn’t notice at first that the door being shut was out of the ordinary. He didn’t notice the wet substance on the floor.

 

Or the unnatural stillness in the air.

 

Then, he turned the handle. And he noticed.

 

Dean blinked in confusion at the greasy liquid coating the floor. Oozing into the floorboards. He wrinkled his nose at the strange, unnervingly familiar odor in the air and looked around the office, wondering what had been spilled. It smelled like... Like something burning. It smelled like exposed human parts, like in his dad’s lab occasionally when he’d been growing up. It smelled coppery like… blood.

 

That was a smell Dean knew. Blood, from skewered enemies and minions who had stood too close to the blades of the X-1 or Brock had told him and Hank were “sleeping.” The high stink of metallic, liquid human insides.

 

And then, Dean finally locked his eyes on the open metal suit on the floor. Open, with greasy red remains spilling out of it. There was just _nothing left_.

 

Dean stepped back, choking on the smell, on the reality of what was before him. His eyes flitted around the room for any sign that he was wrong. Because he just had to be. That couldn’t be, on the floor, it just could not be…

 

Stacks of papers on his desk. A takeout coffee cup. A blue and white coat hung over a chair.  Everything else was the same, right in place, arranged just so. Dean stepped back out into the hall, pressing both hands over his mouth to suppress a scream of horror and utter rage.

 

Because Dr. Von Helping was dead, and Dean had just stepped in his remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm the worst.


	8. Dean's Old Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Dean's coat been up to without him?

“Dean, what the hell are ya doin’ here?”

 

Brock stormed up to Dean and grabbed the boy’s shoulders. Must’ve startled him, too, because he stiffened up and tried to squirm away.

 

“Relax!” Brock let one hand drop, but kept the other on Dean’s shoulder, hoping to settle the boy, but he remained ridged to the touch. “But you shouldn’t be here. Didn’t Shore Leave, uh, leave with you and Hank ten minutes ago?”

 

“Um… yes?” Dean squeaked. “But, um, I-I was cold.”

 

“Fine. Stay put.”

 

Brock went into Dean’s room. A box of old clothes sat on his bed, and the desk was piled high with books and papers. Must be finals. He spotted the blue and white coat Doc had bought for him probably two years ago. Ugly old thing. Unfortunately, after he’d grabbed it and returned to the hallway, Dean was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Dammit, Dean.” Brock shook his head and started ducking his head into rooms. Usually it was Hank he had to worry about fooling around in the middle of a dangerous operation.

 

Grumbling low in his throat, he headed back to the living room where the OSI and Guild were setting up for the Morpho sting. Then, surprisingly, there the boy was, lurking near the wall and staring intently at Councilwoman One and Snoopy.

 

“Hey.” Brock grabbed Dean’s arm. “C’mon, let’s get you outta here before the fur starts flying.”

 

“Oh, but I—“

 

“No buts!”

 

Brock pulled his arms up and slipped the coat on him. It almost reminded him of those times, years old, pulling coats onto squirming little boys and buckling them into their seats on the X-1. With a soft smile, he patted Dean’s chest.

 

“It’ll all be okay, Dean. Your dad’s outta the way, and Shore Leave’s gonna take care of you and your brother, so just stick close to him, and don’t head back until we give you the all clear, okay?”

 

Dean bit his lower lip and nodded slowly. His eyes shifted back to the sofa. “Are you really okay having all these Guild people in our home? They’re treacherous. Especially these Counsel members.”

 

“I know how they are. And we’re gonna sweep the place for bugs and traps straight after. Promise.” Brock put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and stepped closer to him. Dean must’ve been terrified. His heart was beating like a jackhammer.

 

Gently, but forcefully, Brock guided Dean to the elevator. “See ya in a few hours.”

 

Dean looked a little frustrated, but he stepped into the elevator and forced a smile.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it was because Dean had been so determined to find his stupid old coat, but Hank could’ve sworn that kid sitting in the corner was wearing it. It was blue and white, and it was puffy, and it was ugly, so that fit all the criteria. Plus, it had that little tear on the back from when Dermott had tried to wear it and jumped off the statue to see if the puff would buffer his landing.

 

(It did not.)

 

“Do we have any more deliveries, Vincenzo?” Hank called into the back.

 

“Not yet! Order goes out in hour and a half! No cold pizzas!” Vincenzo yelled from the back.

 

“Gotcha!” Hank hopped off the counter and approached the kid in the puffy coat. “Hi, there!”

 

The head lifted, and big, dark eyes greeted him. They looked tired and more than a little hungry.  And a little like that fox girl from the _Teen Wolf_ show. Though, Hank couldn’t really tell whether he was looking at a boy or a girl. Or how old the kid was… somewhere between 13 and 17 probably.

 

“Hi…” the kid said hesitantly.

 

“I’m Hank!” Hank rocked on his feet while the kid stared at him. “Technically, you have to order something to hang here, but I have some time. I could spot us some lunch.”

 

The dark eyes narrowed. The kid sucked in their lower lip and frowned.

 

“Buuuut, only if I know what name to put on the order.”

 

The dark eyes blinked owlishly.

 

Hank grinned widely.

 

“I’m nobody.”

 

“Nobody?” Hank echoed. “That’s your name? Doesn’t that get confusing?”

 

Nobody’s expression opened up just a little. “It would only be confusing if there were anyone who wanted to talk to me.”

 

“Well, I wanna talk to you. Hold up a sec.” Hank rose to get some pizza. He tucked some of his tip money in the register and grabbed a couple of wide, hot slices. When he returned with two plates and a couple of glasses of water, he held up a finger. “Okay. _Pause_. Are you a vegetarian? My brother’s a vegetarian and he doesn’t eat… pretty much anything.”

 

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

 

“Too true, my friend.” Hank sat down opposite from Nobody and pushed a plate over to them. “You live in this neighborhood?”

 

“Um, kind of.”

 

“Yeah, me too. I’m up at Ven-Tech Tower.” Hank bit into his pepperoni and sighed. “We’re pretty new to New York. We got here around May.”

 

“I’ve been here a few weeks.” Nobody pushed their black hair out of their eyes and picked up their pizza.

 

Hank smiled as they began to eat. Big bites, eyes rolling back in appreciation of crispy, flavorful slice. They ate the first slice, crust and all, in less than a minute.

 

That poor kid was starving.

 

“Glad you like it.” Hank pushed his slice over to Nobody, who eyed it questioningly. “Go ahead. I have to stay fit for my girlfriend.”

 

“Girlfriend?”

 

“Yep.” Hank smoothed a hand down his shirt. “One Sirena Ong. The lovely only daughter of Wide Wale, supervillain. We’re crazy about each other. We text until like 3am every night. It’s pretty great.”

 

“That does sound great.” Nobody only hesitated for another moment before wolfing down the other piece of pizza.

 

“Where are you from? Are you, as they say, native to these parts? It’s so hard for me to tell. We’re from this weird compound in Colorado. It was kiiinda isolated.”

 

“Oh, um. I was born in Texas.”

 

“Really? You don’t sound it.”

 

“Sometimes I do. But we moved around a lot. Or…” Nobody watched Hank carefully. “Did you mean _what_ am I?”

 

Hank tilted his head to the left. “Uh? What… are you?”

 

“Like… I mean, one of my parents was Korean. Whoever he was.”

 

“Oooh, I was just asking if you were a New Yorker. That’s cool, though! I have no idea _what_ we are. I assume somewhere in the land of redheads, though. I’m the only blond in my family.”

 

Nobody’s lips fell into a sideways grin. “People ask me that. Or they have at some of the places we lived.”

 

“I think if you asked _what_ Dean and I are, you’d get a _pretty_ freaky answer. My dad’s a super scientist.”

 

“I-I uh, guessed. How many Hanks live in Ven-Tech Tower who aren’t actually Ventures?”

 

Hank scratched the back of his head. “I dunno. Probably… not a lot… Though there are a bunch of floors. It’s mostly business.”

 

“Yeah. Probably.” Nobody sipped their drink and bit their lip. “So… Are you a pizza boy full time?”

 

“For now. I have to find a way to fund my Hank Cave. That, and my dad gave me an ultimatum. Get a job or go to college, and I do _not_ want to go to college.”

 

Nobody frowned. “How come?”

 

“I’m not into all that studying. That’s Dean’s thing.”

 

“Your brother.”

 

“Yeah. He’s the smart one. And getting smarter by the second, I _swear_. It’s almost creepy.”

 

“Does one of you have to be the smart one? And if he’s the smart one, which one are you?” Nobody asked.

 

“I’m… I dunno who I am.” Hank shrugged as the thought about that. “I’m the cool one, I guess. I was in a band, y’know.”

 

“Did you have any songs I’d know?” Nobody tugged on their left ear and watched Hank intently.

 

“Uhh… maaaaybe… nooo.” Hank chuckled. “I’m not really the singer. I play the bass. Except my bass got burned up in this huge fire The Monarch started.”

 

“Oh, fuck him. What a dick!”

 

“I know, right?” Hank shook his head. “He’s got this huge hate-on for my dad, and his voice. Jesus. It’s the worst.”

 

“They’re both the worst. Ungrateful assholes.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Hank!” Vincenzo yelled.

 

Hank realized the phone was ringing and hopped up to answer it. “Hang on, Noe. Heeello, Vincenzo’s Pizzeria! What can we get for you today?”

 

He wrote down the order as the woman spoke, then hustled over to the kitchen to get Vincenzo on the order. “We’ve got a big lunch order! Two cheeseburger pizzas, three margherita pizzas, and one um, crab and kimchi. Yikes. Okay.”

 

“Up in fifteen. Wash up, Hank. I need your hands,” Vincenzo said.

 

Hank turned to tell Nobody that he’d be a few minutes, intending to invite them on the delivery, but the seat in the corner was empty.

 

He was a little disappointed. He hoped the kid was okay.

 

 

 * * *

 

Rocco looked up from his list of new recruits and shook his head. They needed more bodies. Wide Wale’s reach was bigger than ever, and keeping track of all the turnover these days was dizzying.

 

The sound of heels clicking against the floor caught him off-guard, and he bolted out into the foyer to see Sirena there, wearing a puffy blue and white coat that he’d never seen before over a halter top and jeans. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain in a way that Rocco hadn’t seen on the girl for years. These days it was all anger and yelling, no matter what happened. Screaming at him that he was a stalker and a pervert. He couldn’t blame her, on account of what he knew he was protecting her from, but knowing that didn’t make the situation blow any less.

 

“What happened?” Rocco demanded. “Why you home so early?”

 

“Oh, I’m not allowed to come home?” She put a hand on her hip and stared up at him. But the bite was gone from her voice and expression. She seemed softer, somehow.

 

“You know I’m always glad to see ya, Miss Ong.” Rocco stepped up to her and looked her over. “But you got class right now. I thought you was back on campus.”

 

“I was. Class got canceled. Can I go, or what?”

 

Rocco stepped out of the way and watched her walking toward the direction of her room. Uncannily, it felt as though her gait was off. Sirena didn’t walk like that. She didn’t sound like that. Her hips swayed, her steps were heavy, and her voice rasped and that was who she was. Sirena didn’t do this tentative tottering, this walking with her weight on her toes, making herself so quiet.

 

He followed her. At worst, she’d get pissed at him again, like she always did. It was part of the job these days. He’d been looking after this little girl since she was a kid. Since Wide Wale had brought this chubby-faced little darling into his home and tasked Rocco, impossibly, with her protection. No one would ever lay a hand on her, as long as he was alive.

 

Standing outside her room, he listened closely. Sirena was muttering to herself as she moved around her room. There was a grunting noise, then a loud swear, and then the door opened and she blinked up him is surprise.

 

“What?” Sirena said, sounding a little more like herself as the anger raised.

 

“What are you up to?”

 

“Is it your job to follow me around like a damn dog?” she demanded. “Is that what Wide Wale pays you for? To sniff after his daughter?”

 

“My job is to take care of you, kiddo,” Rocco argued, pointing his finger right in her face. “So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

 

“How about you take care of those damn windows?” Sirena rolled her eyes.

 

Rocco paused. “You just want to let that Hank kid up again. Your dad ain’t gonna like that.”

 

“Oh, lay off. He’s a really sweet guy. And they killed that Morpho dick, didn’t they? I’m safe this far up. Except, maybe, if some guy wanted to screw me, right?” She tilted her head. “That would just kill you, wouldn’t it? If someone got to me first?”

 

“Ugh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Rocco recoiled and turned away from her. “Why do you always gotta talk about it like that?”

 

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re a little late.”

 

Rocco rubbed his temple. This girl would be the death of him. “You gotta stop talking like that. I would never want that! All I want is for what’s best for you!”

 

“Then let a girl breathe, Rocco.”

 

Sirena turned and walked down the hallway to her father’s office.

 

“He’s out, uh…” Rocco paused. He wasn’t really supposed to be in the office, unless they were having a meeting in there. She left the office very quickly, apparently realizing that he was gone, and went into the TV room.

 

His shoulders relaxed. Maybe she really did just have the day off. He went back to the hiring and recruitment charts. After an hour had passed, he rose, stretched his neck, and went to find Sirena. He’d offer to make her some shrimp mac and cheese. It was hard for her to turn that down, even when she was mad at him.

 

But then he couldn’t find her in the TV room, or her room, or any of the other rooms. He rushed to the front guards and demanded to know if she’d left, and they confirmed that she hadn’t come out through the front door.

 

She was just gone.

 

“Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck fuckity fuck!”

 

He checked the tracker, and it claimed that Sirena was on campus. But how was that possible? There was no way she could get back to campus that fast. And, of course, when he texted her, she didn’t bother to answer.

 

Rocco pushed his hand back over his head and went to change into some casual clothes. He’d go see for himself where she was, even if it meant stalking her at her precious university.

 

* * *

 

“You do the monologue thing pretty well,” Jared teased. “I’m not so good at it.”

 

Victor smiled wryly. He _was_ being a bit overdramatic, wasn’t he? Well, at least he was consistent, these days. “I think your generation appreciates the one-liners better.”

 

“Short attention spans.”

 

“That I know too well from teaching.”

 

“I remember from my days as your TA.” Jared shrugged. He patted Victor’s shoulder and looked at him fondly. “It was good talking to you. I have somewhere to get to, but we should catch up later.”

 

“I would really like that.”

 

Jared headed out the door, and Victor could see Jared hurrying along his way down the sidewalk. He hoped Jared would listen, if not to him, then to Dean, who had also been born into this life (whether he wanted it or not).

 

Victor turned at the sound of a familiar laugh and spotted a young woman wearing a blue and white coat over a pair of ripped jeans and a blue tulle skirt. She stood by the counter, laughing that laugh, that bright sound coming from deep in the throat, and tugging on her left earlobe as she spoke to Hank. Victor frowned as he watched her and stepped closer to listen.

 

“On the house, Katie!” Hank said.

 

“No way. I’ve got cash.” She pulled several crumpled up dollars out of her coat and dropped them on the counter. “I want you to be able to pick up on your music career as soon as possible.”

 

She pushed some money across the counter to him, then stuffed the rest in the tip jar.

 

“Wow. Are you sure?”

 

“Completely. I can get more.”

 

Hank rang her up, still smiling and talking with a high-spiritedness that Victor had never associated with Dean. It was like the boys were the Sun and the Moon, expressing their light in drastically different ways. Victor would have to check in on Hank here sometime when it was slower and they had time to really talk. It was too much to ask someone coming out of situation as fraught as Dean’s to properly assess what was happening with his sibling.

 

Victor understood how that was. He himself bore no ill-will to his own brother. Their father’s unrelenting perfectionism and determination to wrest control of not only the Guild, but the world itself, had certainly made an impression on them both. But the separation after Victor’s baby brother had left hadn’t been easy on either of them.

 

He took a seat and watched the girl with Hank, listening closely. The voice wasn’t right, or the clothes, or anything the appearance, but he would know that laugh anywhere. The way they sometimes lifted up onto their toes and walked quietly, silently.

 

Eventually, Hank managed to give her the muffin she’d ordered, and her coffee, and she turned to leave. Victor raised his brows at her. She stared at him for a moment, then headed for the door. Victor made no sudden movements, but he followed her outside.

 

“I know you saw me,” he said in a calm, even voice.

 

“I don’t know why you’d be so eager to see me all of a sudden.” She stood still for a moment as foot traffic swept past them.

 

“It’s hardly sudden. I was worried, when I heard. But I’m not in the right circles these days. I don’t hear everything going on with the Guild as it happens.” Victor stepped up beside her. “The house was empty when I got there.”

 

The girl stood there, erecting a stony silence, and only looking up at him after a long, long moment.

 

“Whose face are you wearing right now?” Victor asked.

 

The girl’s lips twisted to the side. “Some high school friend of the coffee boy’s girlfriend. I saw a picture in her room.”

 

“What’s your game here?”

 

“What makes you think I’d tell _you_?”

 

Victor shrugged his head to the side. “Fair. Where are you living right now?”

 

She looked up at him with hooded eyes.

 

“My home is humble, but you know you’re always welcome. You both always were,” Victor said softly.

 

“I prefer the street.”

 

“How about we just go back to my office? Get out of the cold?”

 

“I’m busy.”

 

Victor reached into his bag, pulled out a card and a pen, and scribbled on the back. “Please? When you’re ready? And not so busy, of course.”

 

The girl rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to make sure my business doesn’t involve calamity and mayhem?”

 

“Not today. You’re not the only one who’s busy, kiddo.”

 

Victor offered her a smile, and she just scowled up at him, the propensity for chaos that she had inherited hidden under the thick eyeliner and lip gloss. That wasn’t the person he was looking at, he knew for certain, but the imitation was admirable, as always.

 

His fingers twitched toward her again, pushing the card toward her.

 

“Please, at least take it?”

 

Her eyes fell to the card, and her frown softened from petulant to somewhat sad. She took the card and stuffed it in her coat pocket.

 

“Do you just try to help every pathetic stray that crosses your path? You’d think you had super-science to take care of. That’s what you chose, after all.”

 

“I have work to do. And… I do try to help. Maybe I can’t always, but… I remember what it was like, being on your own for the first time.”

 

The girl sighed, heavily, and with heavy steps started walking again. This time, Victor let her go.

 

Of course, “her” was wrong. “Him” wasn’t quite right either. But it had always been simpler to refer to whatever form they had chosen to take. It kept their secrets. Victor hadn’t always been able to protect those, but whenever it was in his power, he would do so.

 

* * *

 

Brock had stormed into the building, but his pace slowed when he spotted Dean on the bench. Folded over on himself, unmoving, staring at the floor with his bag and some of its contents spilling on the floor.

And blood drying on his shoes.

 

Brock held a hand up to the other OSI officers and went over to Dean.

 

“We’re here. Gonna go look over the scene, okay?”

 

Dean said nothing. Brock motioned the team ahead and knelt beside Dean.  “Hey. We’ll figure out who did this—“

 

“And he’ll still be a mess of congealing soup on the floor.” Dean’s voice rattled out of him low and unsteady.

 

“Yeah. He will.”

 

Brock wished there was someone else here to handle this. Dean didn’t even look like he was even breathing. Brock hadn’t ever met this Von Helping guy, but apparently, a bunch of the OSI officers mostly the younger ones, but a handful of the old guard, had been particularly upset hearing the news. He hadn’t known what to do when the officers wouldn’t stop talking about it, and he definitely didn’t know what to do with Dean now. Normally, when he was upset, Dean would reach out for his father or brother or bodyguard.

 

He didn’t seem to be able to move. It felt like the boy had been grievously wounded. Brock put his hand on Dean’s right shoulder and just let it sit there for a moment. Not holding him, exactly, not gripping him, just… being there. Like a magnet, Dean moved closer to him and sighed heavily.

 

“I can’t… Can’t fix this,” Brock muttered. Anything else would be a lie. Normally, he was okay lying to Dean for his own good, but there was no swearing that his teacher was just sleeping this time.

 

Dean closed his eyes, and his brows drew together, his expression growing tight. “Just… find out who did it. Make them sorry.”

 

“ _That_ I can do. Hang tight here. We’ll need to get a statement from you.”

  
Brock lingered for a moment before going into the office. Dean hadn’t been exaggerating the “soup” claim. Whoever had done this had cracked open that suit and liquefied the man’s damn insides. Here or there, a lump suggesting a chunk of tissue, or teeth. A crumpled pile of melted bio-plastiche. The wig had slid to the ground behind the chair and was now soaking in Von Helping’s remains.

 

“Keep those gloves on. Catalogue everything in this office,” Brock ordered. “This is definitely an unauthorized arching. Cold-blooded.” He scanned the room himself taking note of all of the general items in the office, from books to papers to the take-away coffee cup…

 

To Dean’s blue and white coat. Problem was, Brock knew damn well that Dean had lost that thing back before he’d moved out. He remember that clearly, and Dean was wearing a long, dark gray coat now over his hoodie and other clothes.

 

_“Relax!” Brock let one hand drop, but kept the other on Dean’s shoulder, hoping to settle the boy, but he remained ridged to the touch._

 

Brock turned the memory over in his mind. He should’ve been more alert. The sting had been occupying too much of his attention at the time, but he still should have noticed. Dean _never_ pulled away from Brock. Not when he was loud or short-tempered or covered in blood, or even covered in blood _and_ stark naked. A fist raised in mistake would result in arms raised over Dean’s head, but _Dean didn’t pull away from Brock_.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Brock grabbed a pair of gloves from one of the officers and pulled them on. This part wasn’t usually his job, but…

 

He picked up the coat. There was that scuff on the back. He opened the inside and checked the tag, which (part from care instructions) read “Property of Dean Venture” in cramped, neat handwriting. Brock shook his head, then picked up a stray black hair near the collar. Could’ve been from that time when Dean had dyed his hair… but it was too long.

 

“Bag this,” he ordered.

 

He put the coat back on the chair and stepped away from the mess of an office/grave.

 

“Aw. You look grumpy, my love,” Shore Leave said as he approached.

 

“We’ve got a problem,” Brock pitched his voice low when Shore Leave drew near, to keep his words from reaching Dean, if anything could.

 

“I’m not cleaning that up,” Shore Leave joked.

 

Brock ignored that. “Call Gathers and have him pull all the surveillance inside the Ven-Tech penthouse from the night of the Morpho Sting. If this is what I think it is, our problems are gonna multiply before we know it.”

 

Shore Leave stepped closer and whispered, “What is it? This nutty professor up to something before he died?”

 

“Nah. We got a fuckin’ shapeshifter.”


	9. The Kids Ain't Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the other students are hit with Dr. Von Helping’s death. Brock tries to balance protecting the Ventures as he gets attached to a new assignment.

Dean’s stomach churned as he stepped back from what was left of Dr. Von Helping. His foot slipped, and he nearly went crashing to the floor, but caught himself just in time.

 

Then, he turned and threw up violently in the trash can.

 

Less than twenty minutes later, OSI operatives were milling about Hadrian Hall, taking pictures and samples, asking questions, standing together and talking. Dean had never seen this many operatives out in the open before. But it was New York. Things were different here. There was little secret about their office of intelligence (secret or otherwise), and antagonists arched openly, with impunity.

 

It had been nearly an hour before Brock came up to Dean again, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Look, Dean, I want you to go home. We’re gonna finish up with the scene here and let the police have a look—“

 

“Hn.” Dean clenched his jaw.

 

“—and there’s no reason for you to stick around. You’re not really even a witness. Just the one who found…“

 

“The body,” Dean finished.

 

“Go home, okay?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I have class. I’ll… I can’ just—“

 

“Not to your _dorm_. I want you to go _home_. To the penthouse. Go check in with your dad, take a nap, have some mac and cheese. Just get off this campus and take the day.”

 

Dean leveled a sharp look at Brock. “I’m not some little kid who needs his daddy to hold his hand every time he sees a dead body.”

 

“Well, I’m gonna be busy with the investigation all day. Your dad is probably holed up in his lab with the geek squad, and Hank’ll be back from his morning shift in an hour or two. We’ll send one of the lower ranking officers up to the penthouse just to keep an eye out. _Go home._ ”

 

There was always a lot unspoken between Dean and the various members of his family. As time went on, it grew harder and harder to determine they weren’t saying. Dean thought, maybe, Brock was actually saying, “I need you to be home so I don’t have to worry about you.”

 

Or so Dean liked to think.

 

“Okay.” Dean picked up his bag, feeling the weight of the books and notepads and his laptop. He gave Brock a forced smile, and Brock squeezed his shoulder gently, like he thought Dean would break any moment.

 

As the elevator doors shut, Dean slumped back against the elevator wall. He still had a headache from the night before. Not the alcohol. The poison. It was too hard to think about that. He’d been planning to ask Dr. Von Helping if his abilities would allow him to adjust to a low toxicity venom like that. He’d asked Dr. Von Helping for _so many_ things.

 

The elevator went down. Down to the first floor. Down to the second sub-basement. Dean shuddered and walked down the hall to the keypad in front of a large set of steel doors. He’d never put the code in himself. But he couldn’t just forget things anymore, and he’d seen Dr. Von Helping put it in.

 

Knowing that he was taking a risk, but that OSI hadn’t been investigating long enough to figure out that Dr. Von Helping’s lab was just in the sub-basement of Hadrian Hall, Dean entered the lab. It was cold down here, and Dean started quickly searching the lab.

 

He found the laptop with all of Dr. Von Helping’s project notes right away. Just as he was slipping it into his bag, a voice startled him.

 

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

 

Dean turned to see Professor Isles behind him. She had a bag of her own, and she relaxed when she saw his face.

 

“You’re in my genetics class. Good.” She slipped back behind a wall, and Dean could hear the sounds of wires and tubes being unhooked.

 

“Um.”

 

“Just make sure to wipe it of data before you finish with that.” Isles remerged, carrying several small plants, which she set on an examination table before going back. “Who knows what OSI would do with Victor’s work if they got their hands on it.”

 

Dean tucked the laptop securely against his own, then went to the cabinet where Dr. Von Helping had kept his super suits. It was open. And there was a note pinned against the red and gray suit in Dr. Von Helping’s familiar handwriting.

 

_~~Added impact absorbing padding/gloves.~~ Done!_

That was thoughtful. Almost sweet. Dr. Von Helping knew that Dean often bruised himself when he used his strength. Dean pulled out the suit, as well as the ones next to it. He didn’t know what he was going to do now, or what this meant for their plans. He just had to get this one thing done, and then he could go back to his dorm. What happened then, he couldn’t say.

 

“Don’t suppose you could help me carry this,” Isles suggested. She was back and packing several plants into what looked like a large carrier.

 

Dean frowned. “Are you really worried about OSI finding some plants and fungi?”

 

Isles raised a brow and looked up at Dean disdainfully. “These plants are a game changer. Victor and I worked on them together, and I’m not going to stand around while the government shuts us down.” She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “You don’t trust them, either. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

  
“Dr. Von Helping was keeping a lot of secrets for students. I don’t know what they all are, but he wouldn’t have wanted—“ Dean choked on the words and turned away, overwhelmed.

 

“No. He wouldn’t.” Isles’s voice softened, and she sighed. “Let’s get out of here. I won’t tell on you, since you won’t be telling on me either. And don’t worry about getting me the lab notes from his laptop. I kept my own. Come on, Mr. Venture.”

 

And so, the first thing Dean did after finding his professor dead was loot his lab.

 

* * *

 

That morning had been nerve-wracking for Jared for a number of reasons. That he’d been looking over his shoulder for goons ready to grab him again was only part of it. He had taken extra precautions to always be in a group of people, where there would be witnesses if something happened. Daphne had personally been by his side or nearby for most of them. Sirena had emerged once and followed close behind, just giving him a nod of recognition when he looked.

 

He was grateful, though it felt a little like he was being babysat.

 

Another reason, of course, was that he hadn’t heard from Dean all day. They’d gotten back to the dorm late, and Jared had intended to insist that Dean sleep in, but he had disappeared before Jared woke up that morning.

 

Their relationship was going to be ruined because Jared hadn’t stopped a drunken moment from happening. Dean just wasn’t ready to deal with this thing about himself. He had so much to deal with already, let alone potential feelings from someone who he’d come to rely on. Jared should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have let the kiss go on for as long as it had…

 

But Dean meant the world to him. For all his negativity and anxieties and messiness, Dean was a sweet, wonderful, driven human being. Jared had given in for just a few seconds too long, after Dean had given in to the rush of the night and the sway of the alcohol, and it had landed Dean in the hospital.

 

“I’m a rotten friend,” Jared muttered to himself.

 

“Yeah, you are,” Sirena’s voice came from behind him. “Dumb spider.”

 

“Leave me alone.”

 

“Nah. It’s too much trouble to get you unkidnapped.” Sirena walked up next to him, at a normal, not-quite-walking-together distance, and looked at her phone as she kept pace. “You freaked about what happened yesterday?”

 

“Maybe. Though not what you’re thinking about. I’ve been at this long enough to be tied up a few times.”

 

“Kinky.”

 

Jared rolled his eyes. “I’m going back to my dorm, if that’s all right with you.”

 

“Good plan. Just FYI, I didn’t hear nothin’ about you last night or this mornin’. Daddy was talkin’ about somethin’ else. I couldn’t make it out. Something about someone running for senate they wanted to get dirt on.”

 

“Classy. And good. If your father isn’t really involved, then you have no conflict of interest, if anyone asks you.”

 

“Well, not _none_. Daddy is involved in those drug deals. Just not, you know, officially so.”

 

“You probably don’t find _anyone_ officially involved in putting drugs in low-income communities.” Jared rolled his shoulders back. His arm was still sore from when Dean had twisted it.

 

“Baby Boy beat you up more after you left the apartment?” Sirena winked at him.

 

“No.” Jared pulled his coat closer together. “Look, we’re almost there.”

 

“You think Dean is in there?”

 

“I hope he’s up there resting, but I also know to save my wishes for less impossible things. Like world peace, or Fox News denouncing racism.”

 

Sirena snorted. She tapped on her phone a few times. “I can’t get him to answer. You know, I never thought twins was exactly the same, but I guess I didn’t realize they could be polar opposites.”

 

“I think it’s a challenge to come out of their home sane at all. It’s not surprising, given the ways they’re treated, that Hank and Dean found distinct coping mechanisms.” Jared stopped by the front door to his residence hall. “You probably know more about that than I do.”

 

“I ain’t a shrink yet, Janson.”

 

“I never told you this—possibly because we weren’t talking by the time you started school here—but I think you made a really savvy choice in major. I can’t even imagine the number of people in our circles who need someone who has lived The Life and understands it enough to help them sort out their problems.”

 

Sirena rubbed her thumb against her fingers. “Money money, Jare-Bear. Especially if I can arrange for Guild insurance to work with me.”

 

“I don’t suppose you’d be trying to get them to deal with their issues, rather than commit crime.”

 

“Eh. It depends. I think a good bunch of the Guild treat it like a day job, y’know? They’re not really out to hurt anybody. Like, what’s the name of that new arch of yours? Dr. Horrible?”

 

“Dr. Heinous. He’s basically a sparring partner, but I’m also just a four.”

 

Sirena shook her head. “Think of therapy for those types as preemptive care. Before they start tryin’ to take over the world or blowin’ up full city blocks.”

 

Jared nodded. He scanned the faces of the students walking around behind Sirena. She turned her head to look. Then, she hit his arm.

 

“Don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d spotted Rocco or somethin’.”

 

“No, I’ve just been trying to keep an eye out all day.”

 

“When are you guys gonna… you know.”

 

“As soon as possible. Daphne will be working on the product all night, and Dean must have gone talk to Dr. Von Helping.”

 

“Good.” Sirena nodded. “Well, tell Baby Boy to text me. I gotta go. Be safe.”

 

“Thanks, Sirena.” Jared hesitated, then opened his mouth, trying to formulate a quick apology… but nothing that wouldn’t piss her off came to mind. So he just waved.

 

There was no light coming from the door to his dorm, so Jared surmised that he had been right: Dean was out, pounding through his day like his favored hammer punch, and not heeding medical advice. After he opened the door, though, he caught the scent of blood and froze in alarm. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. It was faint, at first, but definitely not pleasant.

 

He took off his headband, and as his eyes rapidly adjusted, he spotted Dean sitting on his bed. His shoes were off, but he was fully dressed otherwise, with his back to the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. His breathing was a little uneven.

 

He’d been crying.

 

“Dean?” Jared turned on the light.

 

Dean covered his eyes but didn’t say anything. He took a breath, but nothing came out. Then, he blinked a few times and looked up at Jared.

 

“I am so, _so_ sorry,” Jared began. Dean gave him such a bewildered look that Jared stopped and went to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed. “What is it?”

 

Dean wiped his eyes, shook himself as if trying to wake up, and then pressed a hand to his cheek. “Dr. Von Helping is dead.”

 

“He… Wait, what? Are you sure?”

 

A weird, hollow laugh escaped from Dean’s lips. “Oh, oooh, yeah. I’m sure. I saw his— He’s dead.”

 

Somehow, as strange as it was, the laugh didn’t even seem out of place. Jared couldn’t even think what to say to that.

 

“I saw him yesterday,” spilled out.

 

Dean nodded. “I found him this morning.”

 

“ _You_ found him?”

 

Dean slumped over on his knees and swallowed.

 

“How? He was protected by a metal suit—“

 

“It had been cracked open,” Dean said flatly.

 

An awful, ugly noise was working its way up from inside Jared. He’d barely talked to Dr. Von Helping for the past couple of years, but before that had happened, he’d been the most supportive man Jared had ever had in his life. Not just their research together; Dr. Von Helping always supported student research. But when Jared found out about his father’s other family, the father who hadn’t even tried to get custody of him when his mother had died, Dr. Von Helping’s gentle but persistent support had been exactly what Jared needed to keep getting through the day.

 

Jared felt like his insides had been scooped out.

 

He didn’t realize that he was crying until Dean wrapped his arms around him and started rubbing his back. His other worries fell away as this raw wave of emptiness washed over him, and Dean held on tightly. So tightly, it was just possible that Jared wouldn’t be totally swept away.

 

* * *

 

Brock’s head was pounding by the time he returned to the penthouse. Hours of scouring security tapes, conferencing back and forth with the boys in the science division, and needling his own memory of every interaction he’d had with the boys and the Doc for the past several months. It was enough to drive a guy nutty.

 

The fake gun noises of video games filled the apartment. Hank laughed and loudly whooped.

 

“No, dude,” came another voice. Familiar. _Irritating_. “You have to—Glide into my area… I’m gonna let you die if you drop somewhere else.”

 

Brock stepped out of the elevator and stuck his head into the den. “You?”

 

Dermott Fictel jumped up and saluted.

 

“Hey! You’ll die!” Hank complained. “Hi, Brock.”

 

“At ease. Don’t die on my account.” Brock walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and opened it as he returned. “OSI sent you, huh? I was hoping they’d send someone who at least had a full year under their belt.”  
  
“Go get that chest,” Dermott ordered to Hank. “No one really wants to do bodyguard duty. But I told my S.O. I knew Hank from the compound days, so he wouldn’t try to slip me. That seemed to do it.”

 

“Fair enough. I suppose Doc is still down in the lab. Dean give you any trouble?”

 

Dermott looked up and stopped paying attention to the game. “He’s not here. Just Hank.”

 

“What makes you think Dean’s gonna just come home?” Hank said sullenly. “Hey, look at my guy dance.”

 

“Because there was a brutal murder on campus,” Brock said sharply, “And _I told him to come home_!”

 

“They didn’t say I should make sure Dean showed up.” Dermott rose. “I can go out and look for him right now.”

 

“Aw. I died,” Hank muttered.

 

“Just wait. You hold the Fortnite here. I’m gonna check with the Doc, and we’ll go from there.” Brock put his beer down and made a quick stop at Dean’s old room, then Hank’s old room, before heading down to the lab.

 

The Doc was bent over in a way that was sure to give him back pains later and fidgeting with his glasses as he and Whalen talked about resonating circuits, or whatever, and White said something about embedded commands.

 

“Oh, hey, Brock. Want to go for a ride?” Doc waggled his brows at Brock.

 

“Don’t!” Whalen objected. “With that metal plate, he could end up all, you know. _Cronenberged_.”

 

“Doc, you seen Dean at all today? He been down here?” Brock asked.

 

“No,” Rusty said. “I haven’t seen him since the summit, actually.”

 

“Dammit.” Brock let out a growl and pushed his hands back through his hair.

 

“What’s got you bent out of shape?” Rusty straightened up, put a hand on his lower back (Brock knew that would happen), and looked over Brock. “He doesn’t usually come home unless specifically invited. Can’t even be bothered to do his laundry here, though you’d think he’d _lower himself_ to allow me to pay for that much. You miss him?”

 

The answer to that was yes, obviously, but Brock wasn’t going to be distracted by that nonsense.

 

“Murder on campus. Dean found the body. I asked him to come here instead of going back to classes,” Brock summed up quickly and shook his head. “And I didn’t want to say in front of the boys upstairs, but it was one of Dean’s teachers.  The one he’s gotten real close to, who he talked about every five seconds on our trip to the summit.” When recognition didn’t register on Rusty’s face, Brock added, “The guy convinced him to take a few science classes this semester.”

 

“Oh, him. Well, that’s a shame.”

 

“Yeah, and even worse, Doc, we’ve got a security breach.” Brock crossed his arms and started to study Whalen and White closely.  “Pretty sure we had a shapeshifter coming up and down from the penthouse a few times since the Morpho Sting. I dunno how close he’s gotten to us, or what his objective is, but it could be the Sovereign.”

 

“ _What_? Didn’t he _die_?” Rusty shook his head in disbelief. “Though, if it is David, you have nothing to worry about. He likes the boys. I’ve known him since I was a kid. We’ll be fine.”

 

“How do you know—? You never said anything about that!”

 

“It’s not like he was ever _really_ David Bowie. It’s not a brag that would impress you.” Rusty shrugged and eased himself down into a chair. “You’re not even that interested in stories about Johnny.”

 

“Look, we haven’t talked about this, but OSI determined that the Sovereign was a key player behind what happened to Gargantua 2. He didn’t seem to care about the boys _then_.”

 

“Maybe not, but I doubt we’re the object of his plan in any case.” Rusty crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back. “Otherwise, he would’ve _done something_ by now. He can play the long game, but he’s not _that_ patient. If anyone, he’ll go after the Guild Council, if their boasting about killing him is any indication.”

 

“Be careful anyway. Christ, it’s like no one in this family can take an order anymore,” Brock grumbled.

 

“Don’t get your feelings hurt,” Rusty breezed. “The boys hardly listened to Hatred _at all_. Dean wouldn’t even go on missions with us. At least you got him to come to the summit.”

 

It did actually make Brock feel better to know Dean wouldn’t listen to Hatred. He’d known Hank wouldn’t, but he’d always pegged Dean as the sort to respect his elders regardless of his feelings. “You three don’t leave the building. I’m gonna go figure out where Dean is.”

 

“Probably with _Jaaaared_ , huh?” White said in a teasing voice.

 

Rusty waved him off dismissively. “So he’s into _show tunes_. I like musicals, too.”

 

“What are you two talkin’ about?” Brock demanded.

 

“Jared?” Rusty looked to Brock. “The Brown Widow? That boy has the _glass closet_ of vigilante disguises.”

 

“Huh. You’re right. He probably is there with him.” Brock pulled out his phone and hit Dean’s number.

 

After he waited for it to ring, then called again, White said, “You gotta text him. Kids don’t use their phones as phones. He probably has the ringer off.”

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

“That’s the new generation, pally. Just text him ‘call me’. He’ll probably answer.”

 

“Text him call me,” Brock grumbled as he tried to do just that. He fucking hated texting. His big fingers never hit the tiny keyboard on the phone quite right.

 

Sure enough, less than five minutes after Brock had managed to get the six letters correct, his phone rang.

 

“Dean! Where are you?” Brock demanded.

 

“I’m at a friend’s apartment. Why are you yelling?”

 

Brock felt inclined to keep yelling, but Dean sounded exhausted. “Which friend? Who’s there?”

 

“You don’t know all of them. Um, Jared, you know. A bunch of other people who were in Dr. Von Helping’s classes.”

 

“Jesus, Dean. I thought you were safe at home all this time. We had OSI protection _right here_.”

 

“I have a superhero here.” Dean sounded almost apologetic now.

 

“That’ll have to do. You call me if anything happens.”

 

“What do you think’s going to happen?”

 

“I dunno. Someone liquefied a guy and we don’t know why. We _do_ know that you got there right after, and if the person who did it knows _that_ , I don’t wanna think about them comin’ for you. You should come home for the night.”

 

The line went silent, and Brock thought for a moment the call had dropped, until he heard some girls laughing in the background (one had a particularly braying laugh).

 

Brock didn’t know whether to push the issue or not. He could have someone from OSI find Dean and keep eyes on him until the danger had passed. Or he could go out himself, grab the kid, and carry him over his shoulder home.

 

“Brock, I’m alright,” he said finally. Quietly.

 

“No, you’re not. Not after _that_ , you’re not.”

 

“I’ve seen worse.”

 

“You weren’t close to those people.”

 

“Are you worried someone is going to kill me, or…? What?”

 

“Dunno.” Brock gritted his teeth together. “Look, you call me at the _slightest_ sign of trouble. I don’t care what it is, _you call_.”

 

“I will. But I only saw what happened after the fact. I don’t know anything worth knowing,” Dean said. “If I were an antagonist who had just gotten away with flat out _murdering_ someone I wasn’t even arching, I wouldn’t be going after his students and making a bigger mess. I’d be…” Dean paused. “Finding someone to divert attention to.”

 

Brock didn’t want to admit that was probably true. And his fellow OSI agents were on the alert for that kind of activity. There was still a risk. “Just make sure you’re aware of who’s around you at all times. Don’t take chances. Let us over here figure out who’s behind this.”

 

“I will. Is everyone okay over there? Hank, and Dad?”

 

“Didn’t even know what was goin’ on.” Brock shrugged. “Which is better, though we’ve gotta improve security here.”

 

“What, a retired supervillain with a flashlight isn’t doing it,” Dean deadpanned.

 

Brock stifled a laugh. “Y’sounded like Hank just then.”

 

“We _are_ twins, believe it or not.”

 

“Heh. Just keep your eyes peeled, okay? We’ve got a shapeshifter of some kind coming around. Until we know their objective, we have to be extra careful.”

 

“A shapeshifter? You think that’s the person who killed Dr. Von Helping?”

 

“They’re definitely on the short list.”

 

“Who else is on the list?”

 

Brock frowned and pressed his lips into a line. “That would be classified.”

 

He could almost hear Dean rolling his eyes.   
  
“Then, who… would be on a list of individuals who I should be looking out for? Or people I should call you if they happen to be following me?”

 

Shit.

 

“Okay.” Brock took a few more steps away from the Doc and his friends, but they were very clearly invested in whatever scientastic discussion they were having. “Here are some names, and if you see any of these jamokes, you get outta there and contact me.”

 

* * *

 

When Brock returned from the lab, Hank was in the middle of a sick Fortnite dance. Dermott stopped what he was doing immediately and went into a salute.

 

Maybe Hank _didn’t_ want to be OSI. He’d be okay saluting Brock like that, but he didn’t know if he could take orders all the time from just anyone.

 

“Was Dean down there?” Hank asked.

 

“Nah. He’s out. Safe, though.” Brock picked up the beer that he’d left.

 

“Oh. So he’s not coming back.” Hank tried not to sound disappointed. He hadn’t thought Dean would anyway.

 

“I think…” Brock took a long drink. “He’s strugglin’.”

 

“What does that mean?” Hank sat on the arm of the couch.

 

“Means shit went down, the kind you need to be with friends for. Hell, I’m glad he’s got some. He’s such a weird, internal little guy. Not outgoing and sociable like you. It’s good for him to be able to find some people who get him.”

 

“I have one friend, and he’s right here.” Hank hooked a thumb at Dermott.

 

“True, but you’ll get more. I don’t get along with anyone, and I have friends from training.” Dermott shrugged. “You have like three jobs now. You’ll meet people. Plus, you have a girlfriend. That’s more than Dean’s got.”

 

“I mean, he practically has a boyfriend,” Hank said.

 

Brock’s brows shot up. “What? Pfft. C’mon, Hank. He’s always been a little—but he’s not like _that_.”

 

Hank sat on the arm of the sofa and swung his legs. “I dunno why you’d say it like that. Shore Leave’s your best friend. Anyways, you don’t look at someone the way Jared looks at Dean and not be totally in love with them.”

 

“Yeah, no. That flippy little spider is one thing, but that’s not _Dean_ ,” Brock objected.

 

Hank held up a finger. “My point remains, Deano _could_ have a boyfriend if he _wanted_ one.”

 

“That’s important to you, huh?” Dermott chuckled.

 

“He _may not_ be the more handsome brother, but he _is not_ entirely without game.”

 

Brock scowled deeply at the two of them. Then, he snorted and shook his head before draining his beer.

 

* * *

 

Progress was a slow, intractable bitch.

 

Rusty had known that from his first horrifying go-around on the hellish teacup ride that was running a Venture corporation. The first had run into the ground. That hadn’t entirely been his fault. Apart from not having any idea how to run a company, or how to balance business, fatherhood, and scientific innovation, running a secret cloning lab was incredibly expensive.

 

Keeping up with expenses the way his father had was well-nigh impossible. Running the compound had been cheaper back in the day. They could manufacture things without running afoul of regulations, take contracts almost tax free, and end up well in the black. Didn’t hurt that the Great Late Jonas Sr. had been raking it in hand over fist once he secured the rights to his son’s image.

 

Who had the rights to Rusty Venture: Boy Adventurer these days was a mystery wrapped in an enigma rolled up in a blanket of idiocy.

 

Heading back up to the penthouse, his back screaming and his head throbbing, Rusty could be content in two things: They had made inroads today on finally programming that damned teleporter properly—He had no desire to have his parts scattered over Gotham, thank you. And, his wayward son was _finally_ pulling himself together. Getting jobs, making plans. Hank had picked a direction and was throwing himself at it with everything he had, with true Hank Venture flair. It didn’t matter if the jobs were stupid. Rusty knew Hank would take something from each of them.

 

And if not, each would at the very least be a line on a resume. Connections he might be able to spin into something else. Something he could build from.

 

That would be important if this damn project fell through.

 

“What are you doing up?” Rusty demanded, walking into the den. “Is that Team Fortress?”

 

Hank was on the sofa with Dermott. Though Rusty wasn’t easy about the other boy being here, objecting to the recruit he’d sponsored would draw far more attention.

 

“No,” Hank scoffed. “It’s Fooortniiiiite!”

 

“Push it, Hankypants,” Dermott ordered. “Let’s off these little bush dwellers.”

 

“Huh.” Rusty stepped up behind them and crossed his arms. “Pete might have mentioned this. He prefers the other, though.”

 

“Because he’s old,” Hank said. “I’m surprised you guys can even play without your arthritis acting up.”

 

“ _Funny_.” Rusty leaned on the back of the sofa. “ _He_ can. I can’t. Which is just as well, since adults can’t piss away an afternoon on games.” He paused. “Or shouldn’t. Pete definitely would if he could.”

 

Hank chuckled.

 

“Don’t stay up too much later. You have work in the morning.”

 

Hank made a grumbling noise, but stopped when Rusty touched his hair gently.

 

“Okay, buddy?”

 

“Okay, Pop,” Hank said softly.

 

Rusty made his way with slow, heavy steps toward the master bedroom. Diagrams and code still floated through his head. He’d be seeing them in his sleep. He’d be lucky if he didn’t write them over and over on the deluge of legal documents that came across his desk when he wasn’t in the lab.

 

Come to think of it, he hadn’t joined a Team Fortress game since that hipster freak had blown into the penthouse, redecorated, gotten him out of his clothes, and robbed him.

 

“All work and no play,” Rusty muttered. He heard music coming from Brock’s room and lingered near the doorway. A smile crept up on his thin lips as he recognized the lyrics. Led Zeppelin, of course.

 

_Ah, sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do_

_Ramble on, and now's the time, the time is now_

_To sing my song_

 

Rusty rapped on the doorframe. He didn’t normally, but it was never a good idea to sneak up on Brock.

 

“Eh? Hey, Doc.” Brock looked up from the screen he was studying.

 

“Got everything secured?”

 

“More or less. Sent Gold out to check in on Dean. She said he was just holed up in a cramped studio with a bunch of other kids, just like he said. Not sure if it was the right choice, but uh, I dunno what it is, these days. At least he’s still hangin’ in there.”

 

“You really think he’s that upset?” Rusty strolled into the room filling with the gentle sounds of hobbit rock.

 

“I _told you_ ,” Brock practically growled. “The guy was his favorite teacher. You didn’t see Dean when he found the body.”

 

“I know how he gets.”

 

“This was different. New York is different. It’s been real rough on the boys.” Brock waved Rusty over. “Check this out. Nice trick you’ve got goin’ on.”

 

Rusty leaned over and saw the security camera’s view of the patio. He was standing near the railing with Hank, holding some binoculars.

 

“When did _that_ happen?”

 

“It didn’t. Look, this one’s happening at the same time.” Brock touched a few buttons and brought up another video. “There you are, snug and secure in your lab.”

 

Rusty felt his throat grow dry. “Was that David? On the roof? Why was he talking to Hank?”

 

“Dunno. I didn’t get the audio.”

 

Rusty turned toward the door but Brock caught him around the waist before he could get far.

 

“If you’re thinkin’ of telling Hank about this, it’s a mistake,” Brock said, sort of low and quiet.

 

“Why? He needs to know he had a full conversation with someone _pretending_ to be me! What if David’s been talking to him as other people?” Rusty stopped struggling and looked up at Brock. “You know how twisty he can be! And how impressionable _Hank_ can be!”

 

“We’ve got Hank under watch. Dean swore to call if he got in trouble. We need to know what this shapeshifter is up to.” Brock let Rusty go, and their eyes met.

 

“Wait.” Rusty took a breath. “Do you think it _isn’t_ David?”

 

“Not sure. The Sovereign favored being David Bowie and a bald eagle. This guy tends to be Dean, or teenage girls, or _you_ , and you watch the camera long enough in that last one, he flies off as a _golden_ eagle.”

 

“You have him on camera changing from me to an eagle?”

 

“Uh, well, no. He found the blind spot. You—uh, him in a you suit—he inches over into it, and then an eagle flies off.”

 

Rusty stood there for a moment, frozen, processing. He sat on the edge of Brock’s bed. “I remember that day. Hank came down to the lab and had lunch with us. He started looking for jobs. That _could_ be David. He was always good at motivating _me_.”

 

“Did the Sovereign have any brothers or sisters?”

 

Rusty shrugged. “He never liked to talk about it. The farther he could get from who he was before, the better. I mean, he was…”

 

Rusty stopped himself. Even if David were truly dead, it seemed wrong to spill that particular secret, unless lives were in danger.

 

“Yeah, yeah… _Nobody_ really knew much about him.” Brock rubbed his fingers over his lips.

 

“We should tell Hank.”

 

“He’s doin’ so good lately, though,” Brock protested.

 

Rusty let his shoulders curl forward. Hank _was_ doing well. Better than he had in a long while. Figured, it would take the former leader of _the Guild_ to provide the kind of influence that would get that boy moving.

 

David had always been so fucking convincing. He’d completely snowed Force Majeure.

 

“Goddammit.” Rusty’s head sagged into his hands.

 

“Just gotta dig a bit deeper in this investigation. Figure out what the shifter wants, and then we’ll decide whether to tell Hank.”

 

Brock’s enormous hand touched his shoulder, and Rusty looked up in surprise. Brock pulled back and cleared his throat.

 

“We take care of the boys. Just like always. Nothing’s changed.”

 

“Everything’s changed.” Rusty stood.

 

“Yeah, well, usta be Dean hung onto us like a leech,” Brock grumbled.

 

“You’re lucky he _talks_ to you. He’s not coming _back_ , Brock.”

 

“C’mon, Doc.”

 

“You just wait.” Rusty shook his head. “Come summer, he’ll find some place with friends. He won’t come home until my _funeral_. Though, hopefully, he won’t feel obligated to _stay_. I’m trying to make it so they aren’t put in that position.”

 

Brock recoiled. “There’s no need to O.D. on the drama, Doc.”

 

“Do I _sound_ dramatic? That’s how this goes down.” Rusty closed his eyes and shook his head. “At least he came with us for the summit. That was… nice. He’s still with us, but… It won’t ever be the same. It’s the way of things. Children _have_ to individuate. The boys have been struggling to do it for the past couple of years. College is a prime time for that.”

 

Rusty’s eyes fell on the paused screen.

 

“I mean, we did it, didn’t we?” he said, his voice softening. “They’re starting their adult lives. They made it. Who would’ve thought?”

 

“And what, we just leave them on their own now?” Brock said irritably.

 

“Oh, like _hell_. But you need to accept that they’re not little kids.”

 

“They’re _always_ gonna be our kids,” Brock snapped.

 

Rusty smiled a little.

 

“I mean—“

 

“No use in chickening out now.” Rusty walked toward the door. “Funny you never admitted it before.”

 

He left Brock’s room. Of course, there was still work to be done. Not that Rusty had any more of an idea how to do it than he had most of their upbringing. They’d muddle through. That didn’t mean his heart didn’t soar when Dean offered an impromptu hug or Hank came by to spend time with him. It didn’t mean he didn’t deflate when it became obvious how pathetically ineffectual he was, or when his sons distanced themselves and no longer needed him. Hell, Dean was practically a third dad in this house at times now, teetering between his baby boy and the budding force he seemed destined to become.

 

David had seen that, too. Rusty wondered what David had seen in Hank. And even though he was grateful to find that his old friend was possibly still alive, Rusty feared, just a bit, what David might want from Hank.


	10. Ashes to Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team heads to Dr. Von Helping's funeral.

“You can’t invite yourself to a fuckin’ funeral, Rocco!” Sirena shrieked.

 

Hank’s eyes bulged and he cast a glance to Dermott, who kept his arms crossed as he shrugged. _They_ had, essentially, invited themselves along to the funeral. Or Hank had asked Sirena if he could come, and Dermott was under orders to keep an eye on him and Dean, who would probably be there.

 

So they kinda had.

 

“I gotta go wit you, Miss Ong,” Rocco argued. “I’m your bodyguard! I can’t let you run off with a bunch of guys—“

 

“I’m _his_ bodyguard. She’s not running off with a bunch of guys,” Dermott argued.

 

“Where’s Samson?” Rocco demanded.

 

“He’s working the murder case attached to this funeral,” Dermott snapped.

 

“Shit.” Rocco shook his head. “Look, I’ll stay in the back. I won’t say a damn word. Just let me do this without a fight for once. There was a friggin’ murder on your campus.”

 

Hank stepped up and took Sirena’s arm. She leveled a look at him that was fit for an arching, but he knew, under that layer of harsh eyeliner and perfected make-up, she’d been crying.

 

“Not that you aren’t my favorite person, Rocco,” Hank said, “but today, you’re gonna have to deal with the fact that this isn’t about you.”

 

“Just tryin’ to do my job here.” Rocco opened his jacket and checked his gun.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Dermott said. “Let’s try not to shoot anyone? One dead body is enough for the day.”

 

“Not that there was anything fucking _left_.” Sirena pulled away from Hank. “I heard he was pretty much soup with teeth and hair.”

 

She stormed down the hallway toward her room.

 

“Um, Sirena?” Hank called.

 

“I have to fucking change!”

 

Hank jumped.

 

“She’s upset,” Rocco said.

 

Hank glared at him. “You don’t have to explain my girlfriend to me.”

 

He followed Sirena, hoping Rocco wouldn’t try to stop him. Flattening his lips, he hesitated at her door. It was a little weird, being allowed this far. He wondered what Wale was up to.

 

“Um, babe? Can I come in?”

 

“Whatever!” she yelled.

 

Hank’s brows shot up, and he tentatively cracked the door. She was inside, pulling things out of her dresser and tossing them over her shoulder. She’d been wearing a black dress before, which had seemed fine, but it was now draped over the headboard of her bed and she was standing around in a black bra and panties.

 

“Um…”

 

“None of this is right! Why do I gotta dress like a fuckin’ slut all the time? I can’t wear this to his…” Sirena threw both sweaters in her hands on the ground and scrunched her face up.

 

Hank shut the door, then came up to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Hey, hey! Don’t talk about my girl that way!”

 

“It’s just... It’s not right. Nothin’s right! I shouldn’t have my tits hangin’ out. You shouldn’t be wearing a _white_ suit. We shouldn’t have these assholes taggin’ along, neither.”

 

Hank stroked her hair. “Dermott’s okay. Maybe Rocco will behave. Just, make him hang out near the door.”

 

“Like he’ll listen.” She sniffed. “Thank God you didn’t wear a damn cape.”

 

“Hey, I’m not an _idiot_. I’ve been to a funeral before. God, less than a year ago.”

 

“Jesus Christ. Sorry. I forgot.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Fuck, I messed up my mascara again.”

 

“Maybe just take off the mascara. And the eyeliner. I don’t think anyone at a funeral should be judging your make-up.”

 

“I wanna look nice.”

 

Hank took her hand and squeezed. “You do. Go on. Get cleaned up. I’ll find you something nice and not too slutty.”

 

“Heh. You promise?” Sirena kissed Hank’s hand and went into the private bathroom attached to her room. “You got your work cut out for ya.”

 

Hank looked at the explosion of clothes on the floor. People grieved in different ways, he guessed. Sirena liked to be in control of things, but there was nothing she could do to make this better. Nothing she could do to make this guy alive again. Hank hadn’t even known him, but apparently, everyone had liked him a lot.

 

Before Sirena returned, Hank sorted a few piles onto the bed. All of her black dresses were pretty short. And low cut. That didn’t really work. Eventually, he poked his head into her closet, grabbed a black halter top; the jacket for her gray dress suit, so the jacket would cover her mid-drift; and a long black skirt.

 

“I don’t think you dress like a slut,” Hank said. “But sometimes, I wonder sometimes how you aren’t cold all the time.”

 

“I don’t get cold easy.” Sirena came out of the bathroom brushing her hair. “You’d think I needed a layer of lard for that special ability, but I dunno.”

 

Hank handed her the outfit. “Here.”

 

“I’m not going to a banking conference,” Sirena said.

 

“It’s in dark colors, it covers stuff, and it’s dressy,” Hank argued. “There’s lace on the lapels and cuffs. I’m sure your teacher would think you look very nice.”

 

Sirena pushed her lower lip out and went to the mirror. “Okay.”

 

Hank sat on the bed as she got dressed. “You and Dean liked this guy a lot, huh?”

 

“He was maybe the only genuinely good man I’ve ever met.”

 

Hank blinked, and Sirena half-turned.

 

“You know, adult man.”

 

Yikes. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I know. I guess I’m not shocked that Dean didn’t mention him. He’s the fuckin’ tightest little clam.”

 

“Oh, he mentioned Dr. Von Helping. It would’ve made loads more sense if Brock had just explained _who_ had died. He was flipping out about Dean not coming home, and I was like, seriously? But I’m more annoyed that he didn’t just _tell me_ why he was really worried.”

 

Sirena adjusted the skirt, slipped on the jacket, and began to arrange her hair. “Dean was fine. He was with us.”

 

Hank made a noise in his throat.

 

“What?”

 

“So, something bad happens, and he goes to hang out with you guys and not us?” Hank said.

 

“Told you, he’s a tight clam. Never said _nothin’_ in therapy.”

 

Hank’s eyes widened. “Dean’s in _therapy_?”

 

“ _No_.” Sirena rolled her eyes. “He went twice. ‘Cause Dr. Von Helping suggested it might help.”

 

Hank leaned forward onto his knees. “Maybe he _should_ go.”

 

“Should. Won’t.” Sirena shrugged. “I’m majoring in this crap, and I know people still don’t wanna be associated with crazy.”

 

“You’d think he’d be used to that, being part of _our_ family.”

 

Sirena chuckled. “Right? Both our families are fuckin’ nuts.” She leaned against her bedpost and smiled down at him. “Thanks.”

 

Hank took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “You ready to go? Or do you wanna drop by our building and pick out a better outfit for me?”

 

“You’re perfect.” Sirena bent over and kissed him.

 

“No more messing up your make-up. We’re gonna be late!” Hank hopped to his feet and led her out of her room.

 

When they reached the lobby again, Rocco looked over them both and sighed. “We good? We’re ready?”

 

“As ready as I’m gonna be,” Sirena muttered, not looking up at him.

 

* * *

 

The funeral hall was large. Sirena had known it would be. She’d been to funerals here before, for friends of the “family,” but never for someone she had actually _known_.

 

The four of them arrived in an armored car, driven by one of her father’s men, and she couldn’t help but look at the man behind the wheel and wonder, if Wide Wale ordered him to kill some softy who doted on distressed teenagers without being a huge fucking perv about it… Would he?

 

Rocco would. For certain. He’d do anything her father said.

 

In the foyer, there was a big picture of Dr. Von Helping’s face, flanked by collections for Doctors Without Borders and the ACLU. Sirena stared at it, unable to imagine what it would be like to see what had been inside of his suit. This sweet man, with his warm smile and warm eyes (bio-plastiche or not). He’d been here, and now he wasn’t. His over-invested rambles about science, his dad jokes, his never-fucking-ending concern. It was gone. Someone had taken it.

 

“You’re shivering, babe,” Hank said quietly. “Do you want my jacket?”

 

“Nah, I’m fine,” Sirena muttered. She glanced behind them. Rocco was keeping his distance, but Dermott, who she’d only met about an hour ago, lingered a little closer. At least he knew to wear black. Black pants, black turtleneck, black suit jacket, where he was hiding a piece himself, though he wasn’t flashing it around. OSI. Probably as ordered.

 

Sirena surveyed the room. There were a ton of people here. Lots of students, which she’d expected. But also a lot of teachers and people in the protag community. She spotted a few other OSI in the crowd, too, though she couldn’t tell if they were body-guarding or genuinely attending. One tall, buxom blonde woman was standing by Professor Isles, delicately dabbing her own eyes. She looked OSI, just from the way she stood, angling herself so she could see as many people as possible.

 

She spotted her uncle on the far side of the room and felt her throat tighten. She was considering going to sit near him when Dean’s voice caught her attention:

 

“What _the fuck_ are you doing here?” he demanded, grabbing a tall, graying man by the lapels.

 

“Dean, please! Don’t cause a—“

 

“You think you can just walk in here?” Dean shook him. “You and your friends _murdered_ my uncle! Did you take out Dr. Von Helping, too? What kind of ‘revenge’ did you want on _him_?”

 

In a second, Dermott was behind Dean, pulling him back. The man’s body stretched away from them, and finally, Sirena recognized Dr. Impossible/Incorrigible/Unintelligible. Jeez, he looked rough.

 

“Hey, how about we take a breather, here?” Dermott said.

 

Dean whipped his head around to Dermott, who held both his hands up and took a step back. It was then that Sirena noticed the bruises on Dean’s face, and the split lip. The drug deal must’ve gone down last night.

 

“He _was_ on Gargantua 2,” Hank pointed out. He came up to his brother and bodyguard’s side, though casually enough that it didn’t look like he was spoiling for a fight.

 

“Victor and I were colleagues,” Impossible said. “I swear, I’m not here to cause problems, boys. Simply to pay my respects for a man greater and stronger than I’ve been.”

 

Jared hurried up to Dean’s side and took his hand. Dean kept his eyes on Professor Impossible for another few tense seconds, then stepped away.

 

“I swear, if you had _anything_ to do with this, there is _no_ law in _any_ treaty that will protect you,” Dean ground out in a gravelly voice.

 

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t,” Impossible said. “Victor… He was a friend. You have no reason to believe me, but…”

 

Dean didn’t wait for him to finish. He took off toward the bar, still attached to Jared. Sirena and Hank shared a look before following.

 

“That guy got lucky we’ve got so many guards lurking around here,” Dermott muttered.

 

“He’s got no idea _how_ lucky,” Sirena said. She let go of Hank walked over to the bar. “You getting a rum and pop?”

 

“I’m just trying to keep from putting my fist through his stretchy face,” Dean said. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took in a slow, deep breath.

 

“Um, hey,” Hank said, a little shyly.

 

Dean seemed to suddenly notice his brother and blinked. “Huh. How many of these do you think we’re gonna go to this year?”

 

“Maybe one more,” Hank said with feigned ease. “They come in threes, right?”

 

“Ohh, don’t say that,” Jared said before glancing at Rocco.

 

“If Rocco touches anyone, _his_ funeral will be next,” Sirena promised.

 

Jared put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and started to rub them. He glanced around the room before asking Sirena, “Are you doing okay?”

 

“I’m fine. I didn’t have to see it,” she said.

 

“Be glad for that,” Dean said flatly. He rubbed his temple. “It’s been… a weird week. And they have his fake skin in the casket, so that people can see him. But he’s not there…  That’s _weird_ , too.”

 

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause he always kept extra cover-up,” Sirena said. She held her arms and sighed. “Oh, crap. I forgot.”

 

She pulled out the checks she’d brought in her little clutch purse and filled out the “To” line for the two charities set up beside his picture. She hustled over there to drop the checks in and came back.

 

“I didn’t even think about that,” Dean muttered.

 

“I’d be surprised if you dad gave you a blank check,” Sirena teased lightly. “Ever again.”

 

“Yeah, who knows what I’d do with it.” Dean lips twitched half-heartedly.

 

Daphne came up to them and put her hand on Sirena’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m glad you made it.”

 

“Even with our entourage,” Sirena said. “Hank, this is Daphne.”

 

“I’ve seen her at the coffee shop,” Hank said. He paused. “I realized when I saw that picture that I served your teacher there, too, with Jared.”

 

“Yeah, that was…” Jared nodded, then looked away.

 

“And then later with that woman with the super short red hair talking to Amber Gold.”

 

Dean searched the crowd for a moment, then spotted them and said, “That’s Professor Isles. She was one of Dr. Von Helping’s grad students.”

 

Hank started to say something else, but then cut off whatever it was. “A lotta people liked him, I guess.”

 

“Got people from both sides hangin’ around here,” Sirena agreed. “No wonder OSI has this place hooked up.”

 

“I’m just here for these two,” Dermott said, pointing to Hank then Dean.

 

“I don’t need to be guarded,” Dean said defensively.

 

Dermott snorted. “True. You know he beat the shit outta me once? He was like 12 at the time.”

 

“I was _sixteen_.”

 

“I’d believe it either way. You don’t look so tough. How’d you even get this gig?” Sirena said.

 

“Nepotism,” Dermott said with a grin.

 

“That’s a big word for you,” Dean said.

 

“We do flashcards in the barracks. No one wants a dumbass under cover.”

 

Dean tilted his head to the side. “I can see that. Um.” He swallowed. “Thanks for not letting me lose it on Dr. Impossible. Dr. Von Helping... He wasn’t about that. He wouldn’t’ve wanted people fighting here.”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up. You know he had a temper, too,” Sirena said. “He’d just be proud you let it go.”

 

“He would.” Jared’s eyes were red and dangerously close to overflowing.

 

God, how had they even done that mission in this state? It must’ve gotten messy. Jared was a hair’s breadth from bawling, and Dean still had his fight face on.

 

“My uncle’s here. I’m gonna go check in with him, okay?” She reached over to Dean and squeezed his arm kind of hard. “Take it easy, Baby Boy.”

 

* * *

 

Dean flushed a little at Sirena’s nickname, eyed Dermott for a second expecting some derogatory comment, then nodded and looked down. He was blowing this. Couldn’t he be _normal_ for a few hours?  

 

Jared leaned over and said softly, “I’m going to go talk to a few friends over there. We all worked for Dr. Von Helping together, back when I was his research assistant.”

 

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted. “Go talk to them.”

 

Jared squeezed his shoulder before going. He didn’t look convinced, but Dean had to admit he wasn’t making a very good showing off his fine-ness.

 

“What happened to your face?” Hank said suddenly.

 

Dermott raised his brows and fought off a smile.

 

Dean opened his mouth slightly, then closed it while he thought of something to say. “I fell.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes. “Into a wall?”

 

“Actually, yeah.”

 

Hank raised a brow and tilted his head. “Huh.”

 

Dean touched his cheekbone lightly. It was a little swollen, and a lot purple. The trade-off had been a success, but just barely. Jared had been shaky, and the toughs collecting the fake-drugs were jumpy. The plan had been for Dean to just be backup. But he’d spotted a hand moving toward a gun. Suddenly, he was in action before he could even think about alerting Jared and Daphne on the com built into the cowl of his suit. The men had been surprised when the “Recluse” (as Jared’s new fake persona was called) turned out to have a trigger-happy partner with a penchant for dropping out of nowhere with a hammer punch.

 

At least everyone had made it out alive. Dean was still on edge, though. He’d felt like an exposed nerve ever since seeing Dr. Von Helping’s remains.

 

“It’s not like you to get into fights,” Hank said.

 

“Isn’t it?” Dermott said with a grin.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Anyone want a drink? It was nice of them to provide a bar, under the circumstances.”

 

“Like you can get a drink,” Dermott scoffed.

 

Dean raised a brow and turned to the bark. “You want anything, Hank?”

 

“I need ID,” said the man behind the bar with a dubious smile.

 

Dean pulled his out. Complete with charred edges and a questionable birthdate. The bartender smirked and shrugged. “Okay, babyface. What’ll it be?”

 

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke. Hank? Dermott?”

 

“No go,” Dermott said. “I’m on the clock.” He crossed his arms. “’Sides, I wanna be seein’ straight when you try to drink that.”

 

Hank chuckled. “Uh, I guess I’ll have the same.”

 

“Two of the same. Oh, with a twist of lime? He’s my twin brother. We’re the same age,” Dean said.

 

The bartender shook his head, but handed him the two drinks. “You look exactly alike,” he drawled.

 

The guy still thought he was lying. Oh, well. Dean handed the drink to Hank, and before he could warn him, his brother took a big gulp.

 

“Jesus!” Dermott laughed.

 

“Please do not spray that across the room,” Dean begged.

 

Hank’s face started to resemble a tomato as he tried to swallow the burning liquid. Dean hurried back to the bar where the man behind it was waiting with an empty glass and his smirk.

 

“Thanks!” Dean spun back around to Hank and put the empty glass under his mouth.

 

“Pleaaah!” Hank spit the drink into the glass and gave Dean a wide-eyed look of horror. Dermott shook with laughter so hard tears started to leak from his eyes.

 

“Sorry.” Dean cringed as he put the spit-up cup on a tray of finished drinks. Hank held onto the rest of the drink with white fingers and the same expression he made that time Scamp had brought them a decaying hench-part instead of a stick.

 

“What the hell is that?” Hank demanded.

 

“It’s _alcohol_. You can’t just chug it like OJ.” Dean took a sip and breathed out slowly through his nose as the slightly sweet liquid burned smoothly down his throat.

 

“Oh my God, he actually drank it,” Dermott said.

 

“Who are you, _really_?” Hank asked.

 

“I’m still me,” Dean objected. He took another drink, longer this time, and closed his eyes as he let himself feel the slight pull of the alcohol entering his bloodstream. “I guess I should’ve gotten you something sweet. I don’t know that many cocktails, though, and it’s not like Jack and Coke is even that intense. Wine just reminds me of that time we met Uncle Hatred before he flipped back to our side.”

 

“Oh, yeah. That’s gross. I don’t think I’d like wine either,” Hank said.

 

“Dude, just go for a beer,” Dermott said.

 

“Beer is _awful_ ,” Dean argued.

 

“Well, pardon me if I’m not a fancy whiskey-drinker,” Dermott shot back.

 

“This is pretty awful.” Hank pointed to the glass in his hand.

 

“I like it. I mean, not the taste, so much—you get used to that— but how it feels.” Dean sighed. Not that he could feel it for long. This would go to his head for an hour, maybe, and he’d be clear again, unless he kept drinking. He could only imagine his nanobots milling around frantically, as they wondered why their host kept getting poisoned lately.

 

“I didn’t realize we could use our IDs like that.”

 

“Well, the dates are off, remember.”

 

“Ohhhh.” Hank smacked Dermott’s arm. “’Cause we died so much.”

 

“Don’t sound so cheerful about that. That’s creepy,” Dermott objected.

 

“Isn’t it?” Dean said. He shook his head and looked out over the funeral-goers. There was a line of people waiting to look at his casket. Dean shuddered.

 

Of course, it was an empty vessel. More empty than at most funerals. Though, Uncle J.J. hadn’t even had anything in his casket.

 

“You okay?” Hank asked.

 

Dean drained his drink and flashed Hank a smile. “I’m _fine_.”

 

The corners of Hank’s mouth deepened, and Dean couldn’t read the expression.

 

“So has OSI found anything yet?” Dean asked, letting his eyes shift back to the other attendees.

 

“They wouldn’t tell a rookie like me anything about that,” Dermott said. “But if I hear anything.”

 

“I appreciate it,” Dean said quietly.

 

Hank took Dean’s empty glass from him and pushed his own nearly full drink into his hand. Dean blinked at Hank, then raised the glass, as if in cheers. Hank smiled slightly.

 

* * *

 

“He was one of the warmest people I’ve ever known.” Daphne stood at the mic with her hands folded in front of her. “And so incredibly generous. You know? He just… So many teachers don’t have the time or the resources to really reach out, but Gods bless him. He just always found a way, didn’t he?”

 

Jared watched her up there, all soft curves and dignity. As she spoke, her voice velvety and calm, Daphne’s hands unfolded and her fingers spread suddenly like the wings of a bird suddenly taking flight.

Daphne had been quiet and solemn since she’d heard the news, holding an impromptu wake at her apartment, taking time out of her schedule to check on people. Between all of them, she’d been the most cool-headed during their operation. Jared hoped she was taking care of herself as well.

 

One by one, the people Victor Von Helping had touched during his life came up to the podium to stand before the sea of other grieving and the casket holding a shell wearing Victor’s face. Students, other professors, his neighbors and people who knew him from his neighborhood, a few old arches. If only they could all be such a positive influence on the lives of those around them. Lord knows, Jared tried. As a person, as the spider… he tried.

 

“Come with me?” Jared whispered to Dean, touching his shoulder gently. Dean had been looking up at the front, eyes round but vague and unfocused. For the first time today, his brow was unfurrowed and his shoulders not up around his chin. Probably the alcohol, or at least, in part.

 

He hoped that wouldn’t become a trend, but given the circumstances, Jared could let it go for the day.

 

Dean seemed hesitant, but he followed Jared up to the front.  Jared took a few deep breaths as he approached the podium, and Dean took a step back behind him. Jared reached back, and Dean gave his hand a squeeze then pulled his hands back and held them behind his back.

 

“Got some backup here,” Jared said with a half-hearted laugh. “I’ve been going over and over in my mind what I could possibly say. How do you sum up what a person meant to you?” He sighed. “The years I was close with Victor were the best and worst of my life. I made some of the biggest accomplishments and failed harder than I ever had. I found out things about my family that I never wanted to know.”

 

Jared’s hand went unconsciously to his hair, but he stopped himself just in time to keep from pulling his carefully styled bangs away from his forehead.

 

“I really believe I was on a precipice then. I could’ve fallen and never recovered, but…” His chest and throat were tightening. This was too hard. “Dr. Von Helping probably never would’ve taken credit for the person I’ve become. He would’ve said almost everything was owed to my aunts—and yeah, they’re really amazing women—and everything else was just something that came from inside of me. I know different. I know he kept me from becoming much, much worse.”

 

Feeling tears threatening, Jared glanced back at Dean, who stood there frowning slightly. Jared motioned forward, offering Dean the mic, and Dean shook his head quickly. His eyes went out to the crowd, and Jared saw Sirena leaning over to Hank and whispering something to him.

 

“You don’t have to,” Jared mouthed to Dean.

 

Dean’s eyes remained glued on the gathering of heroes and villains and the various and sundry denizens of academia. Then, he stepped up to the mic.

 

“Um.” Dean cast his eyes around the room, then touched the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, haven’t known Dr. Von Helping for years. I just met him two months ago.” A disbelieving, breathy laugh came from his lips. “It doesn’t seem like two months. It seems like, somehow, he’s been part of my life for years. He was the best listener I’ve _ever_ met. And I don’t just mean that he knew when to stop talking. He _really_ listened. He wasn’t waiting and formulating what he wanted to say, or asking you about your life just to be kind. He did everything he could to not just ask the right questions and hear the answers, but also make you feel like you were _safe_ enough to actually say something.”

 

Dean rubbed his fingers over his lips. “That feeling, that… That you have a _safe_ place to go… It’s not something everyone has. I think he understood that. He didn’t talk about his life much, but we shared some things. Just looking at me, he _recognized_ things in me that I couldn’t really verbalize yet. And I think he spent his whole life after leaving his father trying to make sure everyone around him was okay. Just… _being there_ for everyone around him in whatever way they needed.”

 

He swallowed and looked down, shaking his head, then looked up as a tear escaped the corner of his eye.

 

“I swear the whole world is just a little darker because he’s not here. I don’t know how we’ll ever make up the difference.”

 

With that Dean wiped the tear from his cheek and left the podium, heading for their seats quickly. Jared followed behind him, glad that he’d had Dean at his back and that he’d encouraged him to say something. Once Dean had sat down, Sirena leaned over hand and squeezed Dean’s hand.

 

She looked at them, her eyes piercing as she nodded encouragingly.

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining by the time they reached the graveyard. Of course, it was _raining_. Daphne had been trying to keep her head clear all day, and it was throbbing from the effort. It was everything she could do to completely shield her mind from the strong emotions swirling around her. She wasn’t _that_ adept with mental magic, but when people felt grief this powerfully, it was a challenge to function at all. She probably came off like a robot right now.

 

Bracing herself, she lifted one hand over her head as she and Sirena stepped out of the cab. A nearly transparent shield sparkled above their heads, blocking the rain.

 

“Hey, over here, too,” Hank complained.

 

“Get your own magic umbrella,” Sirena said.

 

Daphne looked at the boys behind them, the rain pouring down, and stretched herself just a bit farther.

 

_— I’d just taken the time, just a little more time, before he died, I’d know enough to make a start—_

_—what’s so bad about home, why isn’t he safe there, I don’t get it—_

_—don’t fuck this up don’t fuck this up eyes open, Fictel, remember your training—_

_—I never should have stopped talking to him, it wasn’t his fault what happened in his lab—_

“Oh, Jesus!” Sirena shrieked as the rain suddenly came down on both of their heads.

 

“Sorry. Trying to concentrate here,” Daphne said. “I’m better at illusions.”

 

“I’m gonna run and get a couple of umbrellas,” Jared offered.

 

Sirena pulled out her wallet and pushed some cash into his hand. “Don’t argue with me, Grandpa. Just get something to keep my tits from pokin’ through my halter.”

 

“I got it, Miss Ong.” Rocco snatched the money from his hand. “You kids hole up under that tree there. I’ll be right back.”

 

“That’s _extra_ -service guard duty,” Dermott said as he headed for the tree. “ _I_ wouldn’t do that for Hank.”

 

“Thanks a lot.” Hank pulled his jacked off and held it over Sirena’s head.

 

Daphne pressed her hand to the trunk and sank forward. Suddenly, strong arms were around her, and she was looking up a Dean, holding and shielding her.

 

“Don’t spread yourself so thin for our sake,” Jared said.

 

“You don’t think I could hold up a simple shield under normal circumstances?” Daphne grumbled.

 

“Daph, there ain’t nothin’ normal about this here,” Sirena said.

 

Rocco rushed over with several umbrellas in his hands. “Okay, here we go, Miss Ong.”

_—gotta keep her outta this freezin’ fuckin’ rain, Mr. Ong’ll kill me if she gets sick, last think she needs now is a cold on top of eveythin’ else poor kid—_

Daphne pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes. Warmth welled up inside her, and she directed it around her mind. With a forcible _push_ , she shoved every stray thought that wasn’t her own out of her head.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked.

 

“Better now. It’s just, um, frustrating, sometimes, having abilities that aren’t always useful.” Daphne relaxed her shoulders as Sirena put her arm around them and pulled her close under the umbrella.

 

“Yeah, I feel ya on that one,” Jared said, slipping under an umbrella with Dean.

 

“What, you haven’t found a use for your poison spit yet?” Sirena tease.

 

“Oh, sick!” Hank gasped. “Do you _really_ have that?”

 

“He _really_ does,” Dean said irritably.

 

Daphne’s brows shot up. If her skull weren’t about to split open, she’d be tempted to figure out how _that_ had come up between the two of them.

 

Together, their group gathered at the grave site where people were lining up to watch the coffin be lowered into the ground. Daphne honestly doubted that Dr. Von Helping wanted a coffin in his grave. It was a waste of wood, especially under the circumstance. She wondered who had the right of attorney to make decisions like this for him.

 

Her eyes moved over the crowd, taking in the wide variety of people going to give their respects. All she could think about were the stories that had poured out of those Dr. Von Helping had touched. Most people couldn’t dream of having that kind of reverberating impact on the world. Truthfully, Daphne invited people over to her home that first night to keep herself from trying to perform spells to talk to him one last time… wherever he was.

 

The pervasive grief from the crowd began to bow her over, and she was about to turn and head back to the tree when suddenly, light flashed before her eyes.

 

And she wasn’t in the graveyard anymore. She was in Dr. Von Helping’s office, looking out from the closet, her heart pounding so hard that it almost choked her. A blue and white coat hung over the back of the chair in front of Dr. Von Helping’s desk, and…

 

“Well. Can’t say it’s good to see _you_ again,” Dr. Von Helping said guardedly.

 

Everything went black.

 

When Daphne opened her eyes again, she was still standing in the graveyard. She whipped her head from side to side. That had not been _her_ _memory_. Someone had been watching Dr. Von Helping in his office. They’d been watching, and they had been utterly terrified. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall the memory better.

 

There. She’d been pressed against a stack of old boxes in the closet, barely able to close the door and peering through the crack. Dr. Von Helping had been standing behind his desk. But he wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone else. A tall shadow had cast over his floor…

 

Daphne was tempted to pull down her shields, find the person who had seen this and dig into their mind for the full memory. Right now, though, she just couldn’t. She could barely keep it together. If she let go now, she might very well collapse.

 

“Daph?” Sirena said.

 

“I need to get out of here,” she admitted.

 

To her surprise, she’d missed a good chunk of the funeral. People were already starting to leave. Maybe the person whose memory she’d taken in had already gone.

 

Daphne couldn’t know. And it was maddening.

 

She followed her friends back to the car, only half listening to their conversations. They were all heading out to a bar, but she really had to just get home and get some sleep. So with a few hugs, she dismissed herself and went home to down a bottle of wine and focus on shutting absolutely everything out.


End file.
